>—WBHWi<imm«iwi<il<umi»*>iH|lrMHi[«ilH<'i)illin»li|i*i!.  mUfaWI'"!! 


Y 

s 


T^y^'^:' " 


'^f 


-fov^l"  : 


f>;C-. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2008  witli  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/bywaytravelletteOOfost 


o  w  s 

J  Bi   - 
►J  Bi    « 

S  o  !3 

<  <'^ 


BY  THE  WAY    - 

Travel  Letters  Written 

During  Several  Journeys  Abroad 

Describing  Sojourns  in  England,  Scotland,  Ireland 

France,  Germany,  Austria-Hungary 

Italy,  Greece,  and  European 

and  Asiatic  Turkey 

BY 

AGNESS  GREENE  FOSTER 

Author  of 

"You  &  SoMK  Others" 

"A  Royal  Road" 

"  Blessings  " 

Etc. 

Illustrated 


PAUL  ELDER  £5?  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  .  .  .  SAN  FRANCISCO 


REVISED  AND  ENLARGED 
EDITION 

New  material  has  been  added  in  this  edition 
including  sojourns  in  Turkey,  Greece,  Austria- 
Hungary  and  Germany.  While  not  intended  in 
any  way  as  a  guide-book,  this  volume  will  be 
found  especially  helpful  to  those  contemplating  a 
first  journey  across  the  Atlantic.  Attention  is  called 
to  the  list  of  pensions  and   to  the  bibliography. 

Copyright,  1903 
by  AG^ESS  Greene  Foster 

Copyright,  1 9 10 
by  Paul  Elder  and  Company 


The  Author's  Apology 


MY  DEAR : 

"When  at  the  first  I  took  my  pen  in  hand 
Thus  for  to  write,  I  did  not  understand 
That  I  at  all  should  make  a  little  book 
In  such  a  mode;  nay,  I  had  undertook 
To  make  another,  which,  when  almost  done. 
Before  I  was  aware  I  this  begun. 

.    .    .    But  yet  I  DID  NOT  THINK 

To  show  TO  ALL  THE  WORLD  MY  PEN  AND  INK 

In  SUCH  A  mode;  I  only  thought  to  make — 

I    knew   NOT  WHAT  :    NOR   DID   I   UNDERTAKE 

Thereby  to  please  my  neighbor  ;  no,  not  I, 
i  did  it  mine  own  self  to  gratify." 

And  thus  it  was,  one  bright  September  day. 
Full  suddenly  I  finished  "By  The  Way." 


Ill 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Author's  Apology iii 

By  Way  of  Preamble ix 

Part  I 

England   5 

Scotland 28 

Ireland     


Italy 


34 
51 


Switzerland 53 

Holland  and  Belgium 105 

Part  II 

Greece ijr 

Turkey 1 20 

Hungary 129 

Austria 132 

Germany 134. 

France 137 

IscHiA 162 

Index  of  Places 171 

Index  of  Authors  and  Books 177 


l 20 

Shanklin,  Isle  of  Wight  \  ^^ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing 
Page 

Castello  Mezzatorre Title 

Lime  Walk,  Oxford 10 

National  Gallery,  London,  fronting  Trafalgar  Square    ...  16 

Ventnor 

Tennyson's  House 

Street  in  Bonchurch  / 

Stoke-Poges,  where  Gray's  "  Elegy  "  was  written        ...  24 

National  Gallery,  Edinburgh,  Castle  on  Hill  in  background    .  30 

Dryburgh  Abbey,  where  Sir  Walter  Scott  is  buried      ...  32 

Dunluce  Castle 3^ 

Trinity  College,  Dublin 4^ 

Old  Steps  and  Sea  Wall,  Capri 54 

Isola  di  Capri *5^ 

Amalfi S^ 

Street  Scene,  Naples 60 

The  Pincian  Hill,  Rome 68 

Stanza  della  Segnatura,  Vatican  Palace,  Rome 74 

Piazza  della  Signoria,  Florence 82 

Stairway  Bargello  Palace,  Florence 84 

The  Grand  Canal,  Venice 86 

Lake  Maggiore,  Isola  Bella,  Italy 92 

Amsterdam 106 

Ship  Canal  cut  across  the  Isthmus  of  Corinth 116 

The  Acropolis  as  It  Was  )  r. 
The  Acropolis  as  It  Is       ) 

Landing  at  Smyrna 120 

Constantinople 122 

The  Galata  Bridge,  Constantinople 126 

Modern  Nurnberg ')  r 

Old  Nurnberg         j ^ 

Rue  de  Rivoli,  showing  Tuileries  Gardens 140 

Bois  de  Vincennes    ) 

Chateau  d'Amboise  J           •* 

Campo  Santo,  Genoa 156 

Valley  of  the  Rhone 

Corniche  Road  between  Nice  and  Monaco 

Chateau  d'lf 

Almeria,  Spain 


,}          ...     .158 
I  160 


Vll 


BY  WAT 
OF  PREAMBLE 

Ah  me,  ah  me,  that  I  should  he 

So  torn  by  my  inconstancy  ; 

J  Jain  nvo'uld  go —  /  tarry  so. 

But  see  the  ivorld,  I  must  —  heigh-ho. 

WASHINGTON: 

/NDEEDy  and  in  truth,  one  is  rarely  natural 
save  under  deep  emotions.  After  all  my 
resolutions  and  determinations ,  I  found  I  was 
not  able  to  part  from  those  1  love  with  any 
degree  of  composure. 

I  assure  you  that  I  did  not  stay  composed 
very  long^for  as  the  cruel  train  pulled  out, 
and  I  saw,  through  a  mist  of  tears,  that  dear 
form  fade  from  sight,  I  broke  down,  and  re- 
mained ^^down^  all  the  afternoon  and  eve- 
ning. With  this  morning  s  bright  sunshine, 
however,  I  am  a  man  (? )  again. 

"T he  first  sound  I  heard  this  morning  was, 
'^^ Here's  a  message  for  you.  Miss,''  and 
straightway  that  porter  s  natne  goes  rattling 
down  the  rocky  road  of  history  as  a  discern- 
ing and  right-minded  person.  What  ?narried 
woman  of,  well,  let's  say  thirty,  does  not  enjoy 

ix 


BT  WAT  OF  PREAMBLE 

being  called  "Miss"  ?  But  to  go  back  to  my 
telegraniy — //  served  as  my  dejeuner  a  la 
felicite.  From  that  moment  I  was  happy^ 
and  peace  has  taken  possession  of  me  since  the 
coming  of  that  dear  message. 

PHILADELPHIA: 

rHE  SHIP  was  so  white  and  clean,  and  I 
was  so  pleased  over  our  stateroom,  that 
I  forgot  for  a  moment  the  big  lump  in  my 
throat;  but  I  do  not  understand  why  people 
allow  those  near  and  dear  to  them  to  come  to 
see  them  off.  Nothing  could  have  kept  me 
on  that  boat  had  my  nearest  and  dearest 
been  standing  on  the  dock. 

Ruth  and  Suzanne  are  here  at  last, 

I  am  sending  these  lines  hack  with  the  pilot. 

I  wish  he  were  to  take  me  instead  of  the 
letter. 

How  I  envy  it ! 

ON  BOARD  SHIP: 

rHERE  has  been  no  writing  on  board,  this 
ship  for  the  past  four  days,  and  very  little 
sleeping,  and  less  eating.  Every  one  seemed 
sick  except  Ruth,  a  few  of  the  men  and  my- 
self. 'Those  of  us  who  were  able  to  crawl  up 
on  deck  were  lashed  to  our  steamer  chairs 
and  the  chairs  lashed  to  the  deck. 


Br  WAT  OF  PREAMBLE 

The  pilot  left  at  six  in  the  evening.  Every 
one  on  board  rushed  to  the  side  to  see  the 
sailors  lower  him  into  his  little  boaty  and  I 
watched  him  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see^ 
for  he  carried  with  him  my  last  message  to 
you. 

JVe  no  sooner  struck  the  breakwater  than 
the  ship  began  to  roll,  and  the  tossing  has 
continued  for  four  days  without  cessation^for 
we  are  following  in  the  wake  of  a  storm. 

You  asked  me  to  tell  you  every  little  detail 
of  life  on  board  ship.  You  little  know  the 
task  you  set  me;  and  right  here  I  desire  to 
put  myself  on  record  as  begging  the  pardon 
of  all  writers  on  this  subjefl  for  my  unkind 
thoughts  of  them.  I  see  now,  after  only  five 
days  on  shipboard^  why  all  descriptions  are  so 
unsatisfactory  to  those  who  have  never  ex- 
perienced a  voyage. 

In  the  first  place,  the  word  ^'^  deck"  is  most 
inadequate.  One  naturally  thinks  that  a  deck 
is  an  open  space  on  the  top  of  a  ship,  similar 
to  that  of  a  river  steamboat.  T'he  decks  are 
in  reality  wide  piazzas — when  the  sea  is 
quiet.  On  them  the  passengers  congregate — 
when  all  is  well  with  them  and  with  the 
elements.  I  say  '■^up  on  deck,''  when  it  is  only 
'^^out  on  the  veranda  J'  Flights  of  easy  stairs 
conned  the  various  floors.    'These  stairs  are 

xi 


BT  WAT  OF  PREAMBLE 

dancing  continually,  but  one  soon  gets  used  to 
it  if  one  has  his  '■^sea  legs,'  and  usually  ar- 
rives safely.  'This  ship  is  similar  to  an  ova, 
house  of  several  stories,  with  galleries  or 
verandas  running  completely  around  each 
story,  and  any  number  of  basements  and  sub- 
basements;  but  with  these  we  have  nothing 
to  do. 

As  I  crossed  the  gangplank  I  landed  on 
the  saloon  deck  and  entered  the  only  door  on 
that  side.  I  found  myself  in  a  small  hallway, 
out  of  which  opened  the  ladies^  saloon  and 
the  writing-rooms,  and  from  which  the  stairs 
descend  to  the  floor  where  the  dining-room 
and  most  of  the  berths  are  situated.  My 
stateroom  is  on  the  top  story,  so  I  have  only 
to  step  from  our  hallway  on  to  the  main 
deck. 

I  read  the  description  which  I  have  just 
written  to  the  captain,  and  I  wish  you  could 
have  heard  him  shout.  He  begged  me  to  per- 
mit his  '■''tiger''  to  make  a  copy  of  it  for  him, 
and  I  did,  but  I  was  sorry  the  moment  it  left 
my  hands,  for  I  know  it  is  most  absurd,  and  it 
was  intended  for  you  only.  Nevertheless,  Vll 
venture  the  assertion  that  those  who  know 
will  readily  see  the  picture,  and  those  who  do 
not  know  will  get  a  pretty  good  idea  of  how 
a  ship  looks. 

xii 


BT  WAT  OF  PREAMBLE 
MID-ATLANTIC: 

T^vERY  one  is  out  today ^  and  as  it  is  cold, 
J-^  the  entire  saloon  deck  is  lined  with  a 
much-wrapped^  many-rugged  assembly^  whose 
chairs  are  fastened  to  the  house-side  of  the 
deck^  while  those  who  have  their  sea  legs  are 
marching  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  line  of 
chairs.  "The  deck  steward  has  the  chairs 
placed  for  us  each  morning  on  the  side  free 
from  the  winds.  Most  of  the  time  these  past 
days  I  have  been  sitting  in  my  chair  looking 
at  my  feet y  first  with  the  sea  and  then  with 
the  skyy  as  a  background. 

OFF  QUEENSTOWN: 
/^H,  BLESSED  day!  We  saw  land  for  a  few 
^  moments,  and  I  have  your  dear  letters — 
two  happy  events.  I  ran  away  with  my 
letters  and  have  written  answers  to  them 
which  are  for  your  eyes  alone.  'That  reminds 
me  to  say,  that  I  think  it  would  be  better  for 
me  to  write  on  one  sheet  of  paper  a  wee  bit 
of  a  letter  to  you,  telling  you  a  few  of  the 
many  nice  things  I  think  of  you,  but  which  will 
interest  no  one  but  you.  On  another  sheet  I 
will  tell  of  the  places  I  see  and  the  people  I 
meet,  and  this  you  may  send  to  the  friends  who 
are  self-sacrificing  enough  to  say  they  would 
like  to  read  about  this  little  journey  of  mine. 

xiii 


Br  WAT  OF  PREAMBLE 

I  found  on  this  ship  the  usual  number  of 
wise — and  otherwise — passengers^  a  few  of 
whom  are  most  interesting.  Mr.  and  Mrs, 
P.,  of  Philadelphia^  who  are  well-known 
philanthropists;  an  Englishman^  whose  care 
and  attention  to  an  invalid  wife  and  child 
forever  clear  his  countrymen  from  the  con- 
tumely of  indifference  to  their  families ;  Mrs. 
F.  and  her  son ;  and  a  most  charming  Cana- 
dian gentleman^  who  has  made  the  voyage  a 
delight  for  us. 

Ruth  and  I  are  seated  at  the  right  and 
left  of  the  dear  old  captain.  'The  table  is 
served  bountifully ^  and  the  viands  are  deli- 
cious. We  really  try  not  to  ask  too  many  ques- 
tions,  but  I  fancy  our  endeavors  are  a  failure. 
Were  I  a  captain  of  one  of  these  ocean  liners, 
I'd  have  something  like  the  following  hung 
in  each  stateroom^  along  with  ^^How  to  put 
on  this  life-preserver  when  drowning." 

First.  This  ship  is  fireproof  waterproof, 
and  mal  de  mer  proof. 

Second.  We  will  positively  land  on  the 

day  of ,  or  on  the  next  day,  or  surely  the 

next. 

Third.  The  captain  is  (or  is  not)  married, 
as  the  case  may  be.  (I  should  advise  that 
it  be  written  "is"  in  either  case,  to  save 
trouble.) 

xi  V 


BT  WAT  OF  PREAMBLE 

T'hese  liners  carry  much  freight,  and  are 
slow,  taking  usually  nine  days  for  the  ocean 
voyage,  which  together  with  the  day  down 
the  Delaware,  another  up  the  channel,  and 
the  delay  caused  by  the  storm,  will  keep  us 
on  board  thirteen  days.  It  is  because  of  the 
slow  speed  and  the  limited  number  of  passen- 
gers that  this  line  is  patronized  by  such  a 
delightful  class  of  people  who  go  chiefly  for 
the  quiet  obtained  on  the  sea. 

ST.  GEORGE'S  CHANNEL: 
"  TpLOATiNG  around  in  my  ink -pot'*  are 
■^  many  things  which  I  intend  to  tell  you 
some  day,  but  with  the  unsteady  condition 
of  this  writing-table,  not  now.  Just  a  word 
today  about  my  fellow-travelers. 

Mrs.  F.,  of  Boston,  reminds  me  of  the 
Arabian  proverb :  "  He  who  knows  not,  and 
knows  not  that  he  knows  not,  is  a  fool;  shun 
him.  He  who  knows  not,  and  knows  that  he 
knows  not,  is  simple;  teach  him.  He  who 
knows,  and  knows  not  that  he  knows,  is 
asleep;  wake  him.  He  who  knows,  and 
knows  that  he  knows,  is  wise ;  follow  him." 
Mrs.  F.  is  one  whom  I  should  be  willing 
to  follow.  She  has  with  her  an  invalid  son, 
who  looks  older  than  she.  She  did  not  appear 
on  deck  for  many  days,  and  kept  entirely  to 

XV 


BT  WAT  OF  PREAMBLE 

herself.  She  came  up  one  of  those  days  when  I 
was  alone  on  the  deck.  Joe^  our  deck  steward, 
placed  us  in  Ruth's  two  chairs,  one  of  which 
she  had  just  vacated,  while  he  and  the  lady  s 
servant  fetched  our  chairs.  When  the  chairs 
appeared  they  were  identical,  and  with  the 
same  initials  on  them,  foe  knew  mine  well, 
and  the  lady  s  servant  knew  hers.  As  the 
chairs  were  brought  neither  of  us  spoke,  but 
our  eyes  met  and  we  laughed. 

After  a  few  moments,  "/  wonder^''  said 
she,  "  if  they  are  spelled  the  same,  too."  "/ 
doubt  it,''  I  replied.  That  was  all.  'The  ser- 
vants stared  in  wonder  and  left.  She  smiles 
and  bows  each  time  we  meet,  and  I  must  con- 
fess I'd  like  to  know  what  her  given  name 
is.    On  the  sailing  list  it  is  Mrs.  Wilburn 

Godfrey  F and  maid,  and  Mr.  W.  G. 

F and  servant. 

We  missed  the  tide,  so  the  boat  will  not 
be  able  to  land  us  at  the  dock,  but  instead, 
we  shall  be  compelled  to  go  in  on  the  tender, 
which  is  approaching  in  the  distance. 


XVI 


Part  I. 

This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise  ; 
This  fortress  built  by  nature  for  herself. 
Against  infeSlion  and  the  hand  of  war; 
This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world. 
This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea. 

Shakspere,  Richard  II, 
A&.  II,  Scene  I,  Line  41. 


w 


ENGLAND 

Oh,  to  he  in  England 

Noiv  that  Aprir t  there , 

jind  luhoe-ver  ivakes  in  England 

Sees,  some  morning,  unatvare, 

That  the  loivest  boughs  and  the  brush-iuood  shtaf 

Round  the  elm-tree  hole  are  in  tiny  leaf, 

JVhile  the  chaffinch  sings  on  the  orchard  bough 

In  England—  no-w  !  ^^^^^^  Browning. 

LIVERPOOL  : 

'E  LANDED  at  cleven  o'clock  and  I  went 
immediately  and  sent  a  cable  to  you. 
In  the  paying  for  it — my  first  money  trans- 
adion  in  England — I  was  given  too  little 
change,  which  stamps  me  fresh  from  Amer- 
ica and  not  up  in  shillings,  pence,  and  ha'- 
pennies. 

The  contents  of  our  letters  made  it  nec- 
essary to  change  some  of  our  plans.  A 
telegram  to  Ruth  from  Lady  S ,  com- 
pelling her  to  go  north  for  a  few  days,  will 
separate  us  for  a  time.  Ruth  begged  me 
to  accompany  her,  but  my  plans  lead  else- 
where, so  this  merry  family  of  ours  parts 
to  meet (?) 

You  are  a  very  satisfactory  sort  of  corre- 
spondent, for    you  bid  me  tell  how  one 


BY  THE  WAY 

should  go  to  London  from  Liverpool,  what 
to  see  and  any  little  details  not  known  to 
the  stranger,  not  forgetting  the  necessary- 
expenses.  Ruth  has  been  here  many  times, 
and  knows  every  spot  of  interest,  and  she 
has  mapped  out  a  route  for  me  to  take  un- 
til she  can  join  me. 

After  going  through  the  Customs,  which, 
by  the  way,  is  easier  in  European  countries 
than  in  America,  we  started  at  once  for 
London,  via  the  Great  Western  Railway. 
Speaking  of  the  Customs,  they  have  sort 
of  aisles,  in  which  the  trunks  are  arranged, 
and  one  is  not  allowed  to  enter  until  all  is 
ready.  Hanging  in  conspicuous  places  are 
the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  and  a  man  at 
the  door  asks  your  name,  and  you  are  di- 
redled  to  the  proper  aisle.  The  officer  first 
looks  you  over,  then  says:  "Have  you  any 
spirits"  (not  ghosts,  but  liquors),  "cigars, 
or  English  copyrighted  books?"  I  an- 
swered, "No,"  of  course,  and  the  blue 
chalk  mark  was  placed  on  my  luggage 
without  further  question,  after  which  a 
splendid  porter  was  called  to  carry  it  to  my 
carriage. 

The  woman  behind  me,  too,  said  "No," 
just  as  I  did,  but  she,  it  seems,  had  a  man 
all  her  own,  and  the  officer  said, 


ENGLAND 

"I  will  have  to  trouble  you  to  open  the 
trunks  for  me." 

Apparently  the  Customs  officers  have  a 
way  of  finding  out  things,  and  I  wish  you 
could  have  seen  the  contents  of  those 
trunks !  There  were  bottles  and  bottles, 
and  cigars  and  tobacco — everything  but 
books.    That  was  the  first  time  I  was  sorry 

my  name  began  with ,  for  had  it  been 

otherwise  I  should  have  been  spared  the 
sight  of  the  discomfort  of  that  poor  woman. 

As  I  was  leaving,  the  second  officer  said 
to  her, "  Please  call  your  husband,  madam." 
Now,  how  do  you  suppose  they  knew  she 
had  a  husband  with  her? 

Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  That  ocean  seems, 
somehow,  awfully  wide  today  with  you  on 
the  other  side. 

CHESTER: 

TT7E  PURCHASED  in  Livcfpool  an  " Amer- 
^  ^  ican  tourists'  stop-over  ticket,"  over 
what  is  known  as  the  "  Garden  Route,"  for 
i6/'6,  which,  being  interpreted,  signifies 
sixteen  shillings  and  sixpence,  or  slightly 
over  four  dollars. 

We  are  at  The  Blossoms,  an  inn  over 
four  hundred  years  old.  We  have  been  to 
Hawarden  Castle,  the  beautiful  home  of 

5 


BY  THE  WAY 

the  late  Mr.  Gladstone.  It  is  in  Wales, 
but  five  miles  from  here.  On  our  return 
we  visited  Eaton  Hall,  the  magnificent 
"place"  of  the  Duke  of  Westminster. 

Chester  is  one  of  the  oldest  towns  in 
England,  and  some  of  the  old  Roman  wall, 
built  over  one  thousand  years  ago,  is  yet 
standing.  The  "Old  Rows,"  two-story 
shops,  with  some  above  and  some  below 
the  sidewalk,  are  quaint.  The  beautiful 
drive  is  called  the  "  Roodee,"  a  contraftion 
of  the  French  word  rue  and  the  River 
Dee,  on  the  banks  of  which  the  old  town 
is  situated.  Here  is  a  cathedral  which  pre- 
sents every  style  of  English  mediaeval 
architedlure,  from  the  early  Norman  to  the 
last  Perpendicular. 

I  count  this  a  remarkable  day.  I  have 
seen  my  first  English  cathedral,  my  first 
English  estate,  and  have  stood,  for  the 
first  time,  in  the  cloisters  of  an  abbey. 

LEAMINGTON: 

TT7E  ARRIVED  at  Leamington  at  "ten  to 
^^  five"  last  evening.  The  people  of 
the  Manor  House  were  expedling  us,  as 
we  had  written  from  Chester.  We  chose 
this  inn  from  our  guide-book,  and  because 
it  had  a  garden.    I   have  learned  that,  in 

6 


ENGLAND 

England,  when  in  doubt  about  an  inn, 
"lead"  with  a  garden,  and  you  will  rarely 
make  a  mistake. 

This  has  been  a  damp  journey  so  far. 
The  rain  began  in  Chicago,  and  has  kept 
pace  with  me  all  the  way.  Notwithstand- 
ing, we  strolled,  after  tea,  over  the  Httle 
spa  and  a  good  five  miles  of  beautiful 
meadow  to  Guy's  Cliff,  the  handsome 
countryseat  of  Lord  Percy,  and  back  in 
time  for  eight  o'clock  table  d'hote.  The 
number  of  times  these  English  cousins  of 
ours  eat  is  remarkable.  They  breakfast 
anywhere  from  eight  to  eleven,  lunch  from 
twelve  to  four,  have  tea  always  at  five,  and 
dinner  from  eight  to  eleven  at  night. 

This  morning,  at  eight,  dressed  in  our 
short  walking  skirts  and  heavy  boots,  with 
every  warm  garment  we  possess  under  our 
jackets,  we  started  for  Warwick.  It  was 
bitterly  cold  —  but  —  did  you  ever  see  a 
castle  ? 

I  have !  Today ! 

Imagine  me  standing  outside  the  castle 
wall,  gazing  up  in  silent  awe.  This  wall 
is  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  high 
and  ten  feet  thick,  built  around  a  square 
of  two  miles,  the  gray  walls  of  the  castle 
itself  forming  one  side  of  the  square. 

7 


BY  THE  WAY 

I  wonder  if  other  people  are  moved  to 
tears  by  grandeur  in  nature  or  in  art  ?  Do 
you  recall  how  the  tears  would  come  the 
day  I  caught  my  first  glimpse  of  the  Pa- 
cific Ocean  from  Mt.  Lowe  ?  So  today, 
while  others  were  "ohing"  and  "ahing," 
I  was  dumb  with  joy;  and  if  I  have  said 
once,  I  have  said  a  hundred  times,  "  If  you 
were  only  here  to  enjoy  it  with  me!" 

As  we  left  the  embattled  gateway  we 
passed  through  a  road  deeply  cut  out  of 
the  solid  rock,  the  walls  of  which  were 
covered  with  vines.  A  sudden  turn  brought 
us  abruptly  into  the  vast  open  court,  when 
there  burst  upon  our  vision  a  fortress, 
mighty  and  magnificent,  and  this  was  War- 
wick Castle!  No  matter  how  many  em- 
battled castles  you  see,  the  one  seen  first 
will  be  stamped  forever  upon  your  mem- 
ory, and  I  hope  it  will  be  beautiful  War- 
wick. We  were  shown  through  the  state 
apartments,  but  they  were  as  nothing  com- 
pared with  my  first  glimpse  of  the  massive 
fortress  of  the  feudal  barons  of  Warwick — 
the  old  king-makers.  After  dinner  we 
drove  to  Kenilworth  and  viewed  the  stately 
ruins  by  moonlight. 


8 


ENGLAND 
STRATFORD-ON-AVON  : 
npHE  sun  shone  today,  and  it  was  a  wel- 
-■-  come  sight.  We  came  here  to  rest 
over  the  Sabbath,  and  we  have  wandered 
over  the  simple  old  town  to  all  the  haunts 
of  the  poet,  where  we  met  Americans, 
Germans,  Frenchmen,  Italians  —  all  doing 
him  honor.  As  we  walked  "Across  the 
field  to  Ann"  in  the  twilight,  I  recalled 
Dr.  Richard  Burton's  beautiful  poem  of 
that  title. 

OXFORD: 

^T^HACKERAY  was  Certainly  right  when  he 
■■-  said  of  Oxford,  "  It  is  a  delight  to 
enter,  but  despair  to  leave."  Should  you 
ask  me  to  tell  you  candidly  how  long  one 
should  remain  in  Oxford  in  order  to  see 
it  perfedily,  I  should  reply,  "A  lifetime." 
It  is  charming.  Of  course  the  college 
buildings,  with  their  quads  and  cloisters, 
the  churches,  the  Sheldonian  Theater  and 
Bodleian  Library,  are  all  teeming  with 
historic  interest,  but  it  is  the  beauty  of  the 
outdoor  part  of  Oxford  —  of  all  England, 
in  fad;  —  that  most  appeals  to  me.  Well 
may  this  be  called  the  "Garden  Route,"  for 
all  nature  is  alive  with  flowers  and  foliage, 
with  green  of  all  shades,  and  odors  sweeter 


BY  THE  WAY 

than  honey.  Everything  here  is  freely 
accessible  to  the  visitor.  No  wonder  the 
English  women  are  good  walkers.  One 
cannot  see  the  beauties  of  these  glorious 
gardens,  both  public  and  private,  unless 
one  walks  miles,  as  I  have  this  day. 


I 


WINDSOR: 

HAVE  been  repaid  a  thousandfold  for 
that  awful  ocean  voyage.  The  massive 
walls  of  Windsor  Castle  are  just  outside 
my  window,  and  as  I  write,  I  count  ten 
guards  abreast  upon  them.  It  is  the 
Queen's  birthday,  "  God  bless  her!" 

I  was  up  with  the  lark  and  entered  the 
embattled  gateway  as  soon  as  it  was  open 
to  visitors.  The  terraces,  the  grand  par- 
terre, the  royal  stables,  St.  George's  Chapel 
where  the  royal  marriages  are  celebrated, 
the  State  Apartments,  the  Round  Tower, 
and  Albert  Memorial  Chapel  —  all,  all  are 
beyond  my  power  of  description.  It  was 
with  difficulty  that  I  tore  myself  away, 
bade  good-bye  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W., 
caught  the  train  for  Paddington  Station, 
reached  London  in  time  to  take  a  cab  to 
my  bankers,  where  I  found  your  blessed 
letters,  and  then  went  to  my  new  home. 


lO 


o  r 

O  ta 
a  < 


ENGLAND 
LONDON: 

T  AWRENCE  HuTTON  says :  "  London  has 
-*— '  no  associations  so  interesting  as  those 
conneded  with  its  Hterary  men."  I  do  not 
entirely  agree  with  him. 

Not  half  has  been  told  of  dear,  delight- 
ful, dirty,  dreary  London.  I  should  be  the 
last  person  to  call  her  dreary,  for  she  put 
on  her  best  behavior  for  me,  and  the  sun 
shone  nearly  every  day  those  first  weeks. 
It  was  June: 

•*  And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ?  " 

You  will  remember  that  the  American 
statesman-poet  wrote  the  poem  containing 
this  line  in  London. 

The  first  and  last  place  to  visit  in  Lon- 
don is  Westminster  Abbey.  The  church 
is  in  the  form  of  a  Latin  cross,  and  the 
poets'  corner  is  in  the  south  transept,  a 
wing  off  the  organ-room.  When  you  enter 
it,  you  seem  to  be  in  a  chapel  with  pews 
and  an  altar  like  any  place  of  worship,  but 
it  appears  to  grow  larger  as  one  continues 
to  gaze.  The  walls  and  every  available 
space  are  filled  with  marble  busts  or  bas- 
reliefs. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  Longfellow  is 
the  only  American  whose  bust  adorns  the 

1 1 


BY  THE  WAY 

poets*  corner.  There  is  a  service  of  song 
here  every  afternoon  at  four,  and  the  har- 
mony of  those  sweet  voices  is  yet  ringing 
in  my  ears. 

The  Houses  of  Parliament  are  across 
the  street  from  the  Abbey.  They  contain 
over  a  thousand  apartments,  more  than  a 
hundred  staircases,  and  a  dozen  courts. 
The  art  in  these  buildings  rivals  anything 
of  the  kind  in  the  world.  The  paintings, 
sculptures,  and  the  mosaic  pavements  are 
beautiful.  They  are  open  to  the  public 
only  on  Saturdays,  from  ten  to  four. 

One  should  take  a  boat  from  the  Tower 
Bridge  to  get  the  view  of  the  Parliament 
buildings  from  the  river,  and  sail  away 
down  past  the  embankment,  where  are 
many  of  the  finest  hotels. 

There  are  some  beautiful  water  trips 
about  London.  One  particularly  pleasant 
is  from  London  Bridge  to  Kew.  If  you 
have  time,  stop  at  Chelsea  and  see  the 
home  of  Carlyle,  which  is  now  fitted  up  as 
a  memorial  and  open  to  visitors.  Go  on 
to  Kew,  where  you  disembark  and  take  a 
char-a-bancs^  or  the  top  of  an  omnibus,  to 
Hampton  Court  and  walk  through  the 
grounds. 

To  me  one  of  the  greatest  delights  of 

12 


ENGLAND 

London  is  Hyde  Park.  I  cannot  under- 
stand why  one  hears  so  much  about  Paris 
and  so  little  of  London.  Hyde  Park  is  to 
London  what  the  Tuileries  are  to  Paris, 
and  the  marble  arch  at  the  Vidloria  Street 
entrance,  ereded  by  George  the  Fourth, 
is  as  beautiful  as  the  Arc  de  Triomphe, 
while  the  massive  archway  and  iron  gates 
at  the  Piccadilly  end  are  imposing.  One 
gets  the  best  idea  of  Hyde  Park  by  taking 
a  'bus  at  Piccadilly  Circus  —  and,  by  the 
by,  do  you  know  what  Piccadilly  Circus  is? 
Well,  it  is  only  a  street,  or  rather  a  widen- 
ing of  the  place  where  Regent  Street  ends 
and  where  Piccadilly  turns  west.  Picca- 
dilly itself  is  a  prominent  street,  but  only 
about  half  a  mile  in  length,  beginning  at 
Haymarket  and  ending  at  Hyde  Park. 

To  go  back  to  Hyde  Park  —  I  repeat, 
take  a 'bus  at  Piccadilly  Circus,  ride  to  Kens- 
ington Gore,  and  walk  back  through  Kens- 
ington Gardens,  past  the  Albert  Memorial 
and  the  marble  statue  of  the  Queen,  done 
by  her  daughter.  Princess  Louise.  One  is 
obliged  to  walk,  as  carriages  are  not  allowed 
in  Kensington  Gardens,  and  there  is  no 
other  way  to  see  the  beauty  of  the  rare  old 
trees,  the  fountains,  the  lakes,  the  bridges 
and  the  glorious  array  of  blossoms.    Try 

13 


BY  THE  WAY 

to  get  to  Rotton  Row  in  Hyde  Park  by 
four,  for  at  that  time  the  "drive"  begins, 
and  one  may  see  London's  lords  and  ladies 
at  their  best. 

Another  delightful  day  may  be  spent  in 
St.  James'  Park.  Aim  to  arrive  there  for 
the  "guard  mount,"  at  nine  each  morning, 
and  if  you  go  on  a  Wednesday,  and  the 
King  and  Queen  happen  not  to  be  in  town, 
you   may  be  shown  through   the   palace. 

Make  a  day  of  the  Crystal  Palace  at 
Norwood.  If  you  cannot  take  the  conti- 
nental trip,  a  very  good  idea  of  the  works 
of  art  of  Switzerland,  Germany,  France 
and  Italy  may  be  obtained  in  this  "minia- 
ture world,"  as  the  Crystal  Palace  is  some- 
times called. 

You  should  go  to  the  theaters,  and  go 
some  time  when  they  do  not  "book  stalls." 
This  experience  is  apt  to  test  your  dispo- 
sition. The  Haymarket  Theater,  for  in- 
stance, does  not  book  seats  on  Saturday 
afternoons  and  the  highest  priced  seat  is 
but  four  shillings.  It  seemed  strange  that 
Ruth  insisted  on  our  lunching  so  early  the 
Saturday  we  were  to  attend,  but  I  thought 
the  performance  began  at  twelve  like 
the  Wagnerian  cycles  at  Covent  Garden. 
When    I    saw   the    pretty,  well-behaved 

H 


ENGLAND 

young  women  sitting  there  in  line  on 
camp-stools,  it  struck  me  as  very  funny. 
I  lost  my  "  place  "  time  after  time  stepping 
out  to  gaze  at  them.  There  were  few  men 
present,  and  the  low  voices  of  the  women 
never  rose  high  or  shrill  when  arguing 
about  their  right  to  a  place. 

But  best  and  most  fascinating  of  all  is 
the  National  Gallery,  and  after  that  the 
British  Museum.  I  like  the  English  school 
of  art:  Landseer,  Turner,  Reynolds,  Ho- 
garth and  Gainsborough. 

If  I  could  have  but  one  pidure,  and 
that  of  my  own  choosing,  I'd  take,  without 
hesitation,  Landseer's  "  A  Distinguished 
Member  of  the  Royal  Humane  Society," 
not  because  the  largest  crowd  is  always 
before  it,  nor  because  the  easel  space  is  full 
with  artists  copying  it,  but  because  it  ap- 
peals to  my  heart.  One  should  go  several 
times  to  the  National  Gallery  that  the 
knowledge  gained  may  be  properly  di- 
gested. On  the  first  visit  especially,  a 
guide  should  be  taken. 

BOURNE  END: 

T  HAVE  had  a  most  delightful  opportunity 
-*■  to  see  something  of  the  country  life  of 
England,  and  one  that  the  casual  traveler 

15 


BY  THE  WAY 

cannot  experience,  unless  she  has  friends 
living  here.  It  was  on  a  house-boat  at 
Bourne  End,  and  the  memory  of  that 
charming  week  will  live  long  after  paint- 
ings and  sculptures  have  faded  from  my 
mind.  It  was  the  last  week  in  June.  The 
Thames  was  in  gala  dress  for  the  boat 
races,  and  the  banks  were  lined  with  house- 
boats—  veritable  bowers  of  plants  and 
blossoms  —  ready  for  the  Henley  regatta. 
These  house -boats  are  really  flatboats 
supporting  summer  cottages.  They  are 
seldom  moved  except  for  the  races,  and 
are  then  towed  up  the  Thames  to  Henley 
or  Oxford  by  little  tugs. 

The  scene  is  one  of  unsurpassed  love- 
liness —  the  banks  lined  with  these  floating 
bowers,  the  water  dotted  with  thousands 
of  small  boats  each  flying  some  college 
colors,  the  fresh-looking  English  maidens 
in  holiday  array,  the  stalwart  fellows  in 
white  duck,  the  bands  of  music,  the  gaiety 
and  flowers  —  flowers  everywhere.  If  you 
have  read  the  description  of  an  Oxford 
regatta  in  "The  Handsome  Humes,"  you 
will  agree  with  me,  I  am  sure. 

^  £{:  S{S  ^  ^  3|* 

I  shall  not  soon  forget  those  who  have 
been  faithful  and  have  written  me  every 

i6 


5"  -J  "fl  r  o  z 

P  ;o  JO  O  >  >■ 

C  >  O  !S  f  H 

>  T]  z  a  r  - 

JO  >  H  o  m  2 

m  r  "  z  J"  * 

n  z  «?  > 

7^ 


ENGLAND 

little  while.  No  one  knows,  save  those 
who  have  experienced  it,  what  a  letter 
means  to  one  traveling  in  a  strange  country. 
I  am  having  the  desire  of  my  life.  Every 
one  is  lovely  to  me.  I  am  seeing  pi6hir- 
esque  England,  literary  England  and  his- 
torical England.  I  am  having  an  ideally 
perfed  time  amid  elegance  and  luxury,  yet 
you  can  little  realize  the  courage  it  takes 
not  to  throw  the  whole  thing  up  and  go 
home.  I  feel  as  though  I'd  like  to  gallop — 
run  is  too  tame  —  right  off  to  the  docks 
and  take  the  first  thing  that  crosses  that 
big  ocean.  Never  fear,  though;  I'm  going 
to  brave  it  out,  and  I'll  be  a  better  and  a 
wiser  woman  in  consequence  of  it. 

LONDON,  July  Fourth: 

HURRAH  for  the  red,  white,  and  blue! 
The  dear  maid  brought  me  eleven 
letters,  each  with  a  little  flag  on  it,  and 
each  intended  to  reach  me  this  day. 

Ruth  and  I  took  two  young  American 
girls  with  us  to  the  Ambassador's  reception 
this  afternoon  at  four. 

There  is  a  spirit  of  patriotism  in  the 
breast  of  social  leaders  which  perhaps  is 
seldom  equaled  by  those  in  the  humbler 
walks  of  life.    The  firing  of  gunpowder  in 

17 


BY  THE  WAY 

its  various  forms,  the  drinking  of  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  drinks,  the  noise  of  the 
numerous  and  senseless  yells  on  our  na- 
tion's natal  day,  do  not  necessarily  stamp 
the  doer  with  boundless  national  love. 

When  one  is  far  from  one's  native  land 
the  feeling  of  love  for  that  home  land  is 
of  too  deep  and  sacred  a  nature  to  admit 
of  jocular  demonstrations.  I  saw  society 
today  with  statesmen  and  men  of  letters 
and  foreign  representatives  at  the  Ambas- 
sador's reception,  and  the  heart  swelled 
with  patriotic  emotion,  and  many  eyes 
were  moist  with  tears  as  some  one  unfurled 
the  Stars  and  Stripes,  while  the  band 
played  the  Star-spangled  Banner.  All  this 
was  done  without  sound  of  any  sort,  save 
the  sweet  strains  of  the  music,  or  the 
deeper  drawing  of  the  breath,  and  yet  the 
men  of  other  nations  uncovered  their  heads 
in  respeftful  acknowledgment  of  the  fad: 
that  they  stood  before  the  representatives 
of  the  truest  and  most  patriotic  country 
on  earth. 

So  many  things  crowd  to  the  place  where 
the  gray  matter  should  be  that  I  gasp  for 
breath.  I  wonder  if  every  woman  who 
comes  over   here   is   possessed    with   the 

i8 


ENGLAND 

wild  desire  to  write  letters.  I  go  to  places 
now,  that  I  may  tell  you  about  them,  and 
am  uneasy  until  I  reach  my  little  sky-par- 
lor in  order  to  begin  the  telling. 

Can  I  ever  make  you  understand  how 
much,  how  very  much,  I  appreciate  all  the 
delights  you  are  making  it  possible  for  me 
to  enjoy?  Were  I  to  be  stricken  blind 
and  deaf,  and  then  live  a  thousand  years, 
I  have  enough  of  beauty  of  color,  of 
sound  and  of  fragrance  to  enable  me  to 
live  happily  through  it  all.  And  yet,  I  am 
going  to  say,  "  I  told  you  so." 

You  never  did  so  unwise  a  thing  as  to 
induce  me  to  bring  those  trunks.  We  have 
discarded  them,  and  have  each  purchased 
an  English  "hold-all"  and  a  dress  basket. 
This  last  we  send  to  the  place  where  we 
are  to  be  at  the  week's  end,  and  there  we 
are  laundered,  and  away  it  goes  to  our 
next  resting-place. 

I  find  that  one  can  get  her  linen  washed 
quickly,  cheaply  and  well  in  all  parts  of 
England.  You  give  your  soiled  clothes, 
with  a  thru'pence,  to  your  maid  at  night, 
and  you  will  find  them  at  your  door,  along 
with  your  shoes,  in  the  morning — shoes 
and  all  having  been  thoroughly  washed. 

There  is  a  system  of  "carted  luggage" 

19 


BY  THE  WAY 

here  by  which  one  may  send  any  large 
piece  of  luggage  that  can  be  locked  (it 
will  not  be  taken  otherwise)  from  one's 
door  and  find  it  in  one's  room  at  the  hotel 
or  lodgings  in  the  next  city.  The  cost  is 
nominal.  Unless  one  comes  to  visit  or  for 
social  duties,  only  the  bare  necessities 
should  be  taken.  Other  articles  are  an  extra 
bother  and  expense.  We  have  learned,  too, 
to  write  in  advance,  in  time  for  a  reply, 
before  venturing  to  hotels  or  lodgings. 
Women  unaccompanied  by  men  do  not 
receive  the  best  attention  in  Europe  un- 
less "expedted." 

FRESHWATER,  ISLE  OF  WIGHT: 
Tn  coming  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  wejour- 
■■■  neyed  from  London  to  Portsmouth  by 
rail,  and  from  Portsmouth  to  Ryde  by 
boat  across  the  Solent.  The  Spithead,  as 
this  part  of  the  Solent  is  called,  is  the  naval 
rendezvous  of  the  world.  Portsmouth  har- 
bor is  filled  with  historic  interest.  It  is 
here  that  Nelson's  famous  flagship  Vi^ory^ 
now  a  schoolship,  is  anchored.  Off  to  the 
northward  are  many  basins  lined  with  fac- 
tories. A  monstrous  floating  bridge  carries 
multitudes  of  passengers  and  vehicles,  and 
the   smaller  ferries   and   boats   of  every 

20 


VENTNOR 
TENNYSON'S  HOUSE 


ENGLAND 

description    make   a  wonderful   scene   of 

ad;ivity. 

The  ride  was  all  too  short.  It  seemed 
but  a  moment  until  we  were  stepping  from 
the  boat  into  the  train  at  Ryde  which  was 
to  carry  us  the  entire  length  of  the  island 
to  Freshwater,  twenty-three  miles  away. 

We  arrived  at  Freshwater  at  sunset  just 
as  the  bells  were  ringing  for  vespers,  and 
we  walked  with  the  country  folk  the  half 
mile  from  the  station  to  the  inn.  Stopping 
long  enough  to  leave  our  bags  and  wraps, 
we  continued  across  the  meadows  to  Far- 
ringford,  the  beautiful  home  of  Tennyson. 
This  was  the  reahzation  of  one  of  my 
cherished  desires. 

The  house  possesses  no  architedlural 
pretensions,  but  is  singularly  attradive.  It 
is  a  long,  low,  rambling  structure  abso- 
lutely covered  with  creeping  vines.  I  sat 
in  Tennyson's  chair,  held  his  pen,  leaned 
on  his  desk  and  touched  the  books  he 
loved.  This  was  a  privilege  because  the 
public  is  not  admitted  since  the  young  Lord 
Tennyson  has  taken  up  his  residence  there. 

Afterwards,  I  stood  on  the  rustic  bridge 
where  Tennyson  often  stood  to  watch  the 
sea,  seen  far  away  through  the  trees.  I 
sat  in  the  bower  where  he  wrote  "  Enoch 

21 


BY  THE  WAY 

Arden,"  and  strolled  along  the  lanes  which 
wind  over  the  three  hundred  acres  com- 
prising the  estate. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  I  dragged 
myself  away  from  this  restful  spot,  but  I 
hope  that  I  caught  a  bit  of  the  inspiration 
that  he  found  there. 

Another  day  from  the  top  of  a  coach  we 
saw  the  beautiful  country  through  which 
we  had  been  whirled  at  dusk  some  days 
before.  We  drove  to  the  rocks  at  the 
"  bottom  of  the  island,"  called  the  Needles; 
we  wound  through  the  cluster  of  cottages 
forming  the  village  of  Freshwater  —  then 
on  we  went  through  a  succession  of  flow- 
ers on  the  hillside,  flowers  in  the  valleys, 
flowers  by  the  sea,  for  the  Isle  of  Wight 
is  composed  of  blossoms  and  all  the  vari- 
ations of  green,  with  ever  the  blue  sea  as 
a  background. 

We  had  our  tea  in  the  garden  of  the 
little  inn  which  nestles  under  the  wall  of 
Carisbrooke  Castle.  After  we  had  climbed 
to  its  tower  for  the  view  and  had  returned 
to  earth  again,  we  continued  on  to  New- 
port and  Ventnor. 

If  you  ever  arrive  at  that  part  of  Vent- 
nor called  "  Bonchurch,"  stay  there.  Who- 
ever named  it  must  have  been  color-bHnd. 

22 


SHANKLIIV,ISLE  OF  WIGHT 
STREET  IN  BONCHURCH 


ENGLAND 

We  are  told  that  heaven  signifies  harmony, 
and  that  "  naught  save  what  is  good  and 
fair  and  beautiful  can  enter  there,"  and 
Bonchurch  is  all  of  that.  It  is  an  en- 
chanted fairyland  and  the  traveler  will  go 
far  afield  before  he  finds  its  equal. 

If  you  must  leave  Bonchurch,  walk 
across  the  downs  to  Shanklin,  catch  the 
coach  for  Cowes  and  you  will  have  trav- 
ersed the  length  and  breadth  of  the  island, 
that  is,  from  Ryde  to  Freshwater  Bay  and 
from  Ventnor  to  Cowes. 

Cowes  has  its  Osborne  House  and  its 
royal  regatta.  It  was  a  bank  holiday  and 
"all  the  world  was  on  its  feet,"  but  that 
did  not  prevent  us  from  enjoying  Queen 
Vidloria's  favorite  home.  The  house  itself 
suggests  a  stately  country  home  rather 
than  a  palace.  Its  chief  attradlion  is  the 
view  from  the  dining-room  windows,  which 
give  on  a  terraced  garden  leading  down  to 
a  sea  front  of  one  mile  and  a  half. 

The  Solent  was  a  maze  of  beflagged 
boats  that  day  —  the  day  of  the  regatta. 
The  King  and  Queen  passed  in  review  on 
the  royal  yacht,  and  the  new  Shamrock  was 
easily  recognized  by  its  emerald  green 
colorings  among  the  array  of  naval  splen- 
dor in  gala  attire. 

23 


BY  THE  WAY 
STOKE  POGES : 
A  DELIGHTFULLY  restful  day  has  been 
"^  spent  at  Stoke  Poges,  in  that  peaceful 
old  churchyard  which  inspired  Gray's 
Elegy.  The  whole  place  remains  the  same 
as  in  the  poet's  time — 17 17,  except 
"  Yon  ivy-mantled  tower,"  which  has  been 
spoiled  by  a  modern  spire.  But  the  ivy 
refuses  to  "  mantle "  it,  and  with  strange 
perverseness  stops  at  the  tower,  leaving 
the  spire  bare  and  "unloved"  by  the  vine. 
As  you  sit  under  the  yew  tree  where 
Gray  sat  and  dreamed,  you  will  realize  the 
significance  of  his  immortal  lines: 

♦'Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear: 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen. 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 

The  scenery  along  the  Thames  Valley, 
from  London  to  Slough,  is  pleasing.  On 
leaving  the  train  at  Slough,  one  finds  all 
sorts  of  carriages  waiting  to  carry  one  to 
Stoke  Poges,  and  on  to  Burnham  Beeches. 

LAKESIDE,  WINDERMERE, 
WEST  VIEW  VILLAS : 

'E  LEFT  London,  St.  Pancras  Station, 
via  the  Midland  Railway,  stopping 
en  route  at  Chesterfield  long  enough  to  see 


W 


24 


/ 


ENGLAND 

the  "  Twisted  Tower  "  of  the  cathedral.  It 
was  built  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and 
the  book  says,  "A  curious  twist  to  the 
spire  was  caused  by  the  warping  of  the 
wood."  The  poor  ignorant  people  say  it 
was  the  devil.  It  is  very  odd,  whatever 
did  it. 

We  left  the  train  at  Leeds  to  see  the 
ruins  of  Kirkstall  Abbey,  catching  the  next 
through  train  by  driving  to  Skipton,  and 
here  began  the  most  picturesque  scenery  I 
have  found  in  England. 

The  valley  of  Craven  consists  of  mead- 
ows similar  to  those  of  Chester  and  War- 
wick, but  they  are  softer  and  greener ;  the 
same  hedges,  but  darker,  higher,  and  more 
velvety.  The  woods  behind  them  set  them 
off  to  advantage,  and  here  and  there,  spark- 
ling in  the  sunlight,  are  little  lakes.  The 
winding  white  roads  and  beautiful  roses 
are  everywhere.  We  passed  a  canon  cut 
in  the  rocks,  with  cliffs  as  high  as  one  can 
see,  then  the  blue  hills  of  Cumberland 
burst  on  our  vision. 

This  mountain  region,  called  the  Eng- 
lish Lake  District,  is  said  by  the  English 
to  be  the  most  beautiful  spot  in  the  Brit- 
ish Isles,  but  the  Scotch  and  the  Irish  each 
claim  the  same  superlative.    I   shall   see 

25 


BY  THE  WAY 

them  all,  and  shall  give  you  an  unpreju- 
diced opinion,  but  certain  it  is  that  within 
these  limits  lies  a  wealth  of  scenery  not  to 
be  very  far  surpassed  anywhere. 

Have  you  the  slightest  idea  what  an 
English  meadow  is  like?  I  had  not,  until 
today.  This  one  has  hills  on  either  side 
with  the  clear  blue  Windermere  at  their 
feet.  The  white  roads  wind  in  and  out, 
with  this  cluster  of  villas  all  covered  with 
roses,  and  an  old  rustic  bridge  near  by.  I 
am  writing  this  in  the  sweetest  and  cleanest 
of  rooms,  from  the  window  of  which  I  see 
the  purple  hills  in  the  west  and  the  sun 
just  sinking  behind  them. 

EN  ROUTE: 

'T^'HE  sail  on  Lake  Windermere  was 
-■-  delightful.  The  boat  touched  at  a 
number  of  picturesque  places  once  fre- 
quented by  Scott,  Wordsworth,  Shelley 
and  Southey,  landing  us  at  Ambleside 
about  ten  in  the  morning.  Here  the  coach 
was  waiting  to  take  us  on  one  of  the  love- 
liest drives  in  Great  Britain.  All  the  way 
we  glided  over  the  same  smooth  roads, 
with  mountains  on  one  side  and  Lake 
Grasmere  at  our  feet.  We  visited  the  cot- 
tage where  Wordsworth  lived,  the  one  in 

26 


ENGLAND 

which  Coleridge  died,  and  the  home  of 
Harriet  Martineau.  What  wonder  that 
these  dear  people  wrote  so  poetically !  One 
must  find  expression  for  one's  dreams  in 
this  land  of  beauty. 

We  reached  Keswick  just  in  time  to 
board  the  train  for  Penrith,  where  we 
changed  for  Carlisle.  Here  we  took  time  to 
visit  the  old  castle  and  the  really  fine  cathe- 
dral before  leaving  for  Melrose,  Scotland. 
*  -K-  *  *  *  ^«- 

It  is  a  mistaken  idea  that  the  English 
people  sneer  at  or  slight  Americans.  Every 
well-informed  Englishman  acknowledges 
the  United  States  to  be  the  most  progress- 
ive nation  on  earth.  Everything  Ameri- 
can is  sought  after,  and  American  ideas 
command  the  highest  price. 

I  have  found  the  better  class  of  English 
the  most  charming  of  people,  and  their 
hospitality  knows  no  limit.  My  stay  here, 
away  from  my  native  land,  has  been  one 
bright  dream  of  pleasure,  made  so  particu- 
larly by  a  dear  old  English  couple,  and 
by  the  family  on  the  house-boat. 

And  now,  good-bye,  bright,  fragrant  and 
flowery  England! 


27 


SCOTLAND 

/  carina  thole  my  ain  toun,  tin''  I  hae  divelt  ;'  this ; 
To  bide  in  Edinboro^  reek  ivad  be  the  tap  o'  bliss. 
ITon  bonnie  plaid  aboot  me  hap,  the  skirlin    pipes  gae  bring, 
IVith  thistles  fair  tie  up  my  hair,  ivhile  J  of  Scotia  sing. 
Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 

EDINBURGH: 

MELROSE  Abbey  by  moonlight! 
What  a  world  of  meaning  those 
words  hold  for  me!  What  a  wealth  of 
history  those  ruins  contain !  Their  story 
must  be  read  before  coming,  for  the  cus- 
todian's daughter,  who  was  our  guide,  like 
Stockton's  Pomona,  had  learned  her  story 
by  heart,  and  no  amount  of  questioning 
would  bring  forth  any  other  fadls  save 
those  in  the  "book." 

This  morning  Ruth  and  I  hired  wheels 
and  rode  to  Abbotsford.  The  beautiful 
home  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  is  after  the  style 
of  many  castles  we  have  seen,  walled  in 
with  gardens,  terraced  lawns,  parks  and 
drives.  We  plucked  a  bit  of  the  ivy  and 
holly  hedge  planted  by  Sir  Walter's  own 
hand,  and  walked  in  the  gardens  he  loved 
so  well. 

W  ^  W  W  W  vP 

28 


SCOTLAND 

Imagine,  if  you  can,  a  city  of  three  hun- 
dred thousand  inhabitants,  having  in  its 
heart  an  immense  rock,  with  a  castle  on 
top  of  it. 

Edinburgh  is  rich  in  landmarks,  in  spite 
of  the  fad:  that  it  has  been  burned  to  the 
ground  twice  since  1300.  Its  natural  beauty 
surpasses  that  of  either  London  or  Paris. 
It  is  built  upon  two  ridges,  divided  by  a 
valley,  which  is  now  a  park.  The  new 
town  is  situated  to  the  north  of  the  park, 
and  in  this  portion  are  found  the  modern 
buildings  and  principal  hotels.  From  my 
window  I  look  out  on  the  marble  features 
of  Scott,  whose  monument  is  at  the  end 
of  the  park. 

The  pidhiresque  "Old  Town"  begins 
with  the  castle  on  its  huge  embankment 
and  slopes  down  toward  the  south.  It  is 
here  one  finds  the  historic  landmarks 
crowding  each  other  in  dramatic  interest. 
Here,  too,  is  brought  vividly  to  mind  the 
sad  story  of  poor  Queen  Mary. 

In  the  valley  between  the  old  and  new 
towns  is  found  a  wealth  of  art  and  archi- 
tecture not  duplicated  anywhere,  for  these 
Scots  are  strong  in  their  originality. 

It  was  from  the  esplanade  overlooking 
one  of  the  perpendicular  sides  of  the  castle 

29 


BY  THE  WAY 

rock,  but  which  is  now  used  as  a  drill- 
ground  for  the  soldiers  in  the  barracks, 
that  I  had  my  first  view  of  that  man-de- 
vised wonder,  the  Forth  Bridge.  I  crossed 
it  afterwards  en  route  to  Glasgow. 

A  few  days  is  but  scant  time  to  do  jus- 
tice to  the  landmarks  of  Edinburgh,  and 
it  puzzles  one  to  choose  from  among  those 
orthodox  and  those  otherwise.  St.  Giles, 
the  old  Gray  Friars  and  John  Knox  vie 
with  the  haunts  of  Burns,  Scott,  Johnson 
and  Boswell.  The  shops,  too,  form  no 
small  part  of  the  attradiveness  of  the  street 
scene,  and  the  windows  filled  with  articles 
done  in  plaids  of  the  different  clans  are 
alluring. 

GLASGOW: 

'TpHE  chief  difference,  I  find,  between  the 
-*■  English  and  Scottish  castles  lies  in 
the  fad:  that  the  former  are  simply  resi- 
dences—  walled  to  be  sure  —  while  the 
latter  are  strongholds,  generally  perched 
on  some  gigantic  rock,  and,  incidentally, 
royalty  resided  in  them  long  enough  to 
have  their  heads  under  the  guillotine. 
Stirling  Castle  is  no  exception  to  the  rule, 
and  it  is  therefore  not  visited  by  many 
women. 

30 


BB  S  O  W  O  Z 

►  -  >  O  >  > 

O  f^  <"  ""  M   «J 

o  -  ^  2  "  ° 

;e  Z  m  C  po  z 

C  Z  '^  ^ 

z  ~ 


SCOTLAND 

There  is  a  long,  hard  cHmb  up  the  hill 
leading  to  the  fortifications,  for  Stirling  is 
still  a  garrisoned  town,  and  the  castle  stands 
on  the  edge  of  a  steep,  isolated  rock  over- 
hanging the  Forth.  Here  are  the  steps 
where  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  stood  to  sur- 
vey her  possessions,  the  window  out  of 
which  the  body  of  Douglas  was  thrown, 
and  the  raised  dais,  on  the  battlements, 
from  which  Queen  Victoria  reviewed  her 
troops.  From  the  battlements  there  is  a 
fine  view  of  the  country  for  miles  around, 
with  the  statue  of  Wallace  to  be  seen  in 
the  far  distance.  Just  before  crossing  the 
drawbridge  at  the  entrance  to  the  castle 
stands  a  bronze  Robert  Bruce,  whose  feat- 
ures, even  in  iron,  bring  back  the  foremost 

of  Scottish  chiefs. 

*         *         *         -x-         *  * 

When  a  Scotchman  tells  you  to  do  or 
see  anything,  he  invariably  adds,  "  If  the 
day  be  fine,"  and  true  enough  much  de- 
pends on  the  "fineness"  of  the  day  in  a 
country  where  it  rains  a  little  every  day. 
The  good  wishes  had  been  so  many  and  so 
fervent  that  we  might  have  a  fine  day  for 
the  coach  drive  through  the  Trossachs  that 
nature  put  on  her  brightest  smile  and  never 
shed  a  tear  until  we  were  under  shelter. 

31 


BY  THE  WAY 

The  name  Trossachs  signifies  "bristly- 
country,"  and  Scott,  in  his  "  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  tells  how  it  "bristles"  with  beauty 
and  romance.  That  old  story  is,  after  all, 
the  best  guide  to  the  lake  region  of  Scot- 
land. 

The  big  red  coach,  with  its  four  white 
horses  and  red-coated  driver,  meets  the 
passengers  as  they  alight  from  the  travel- 
ing carriages,  and  dashes  away  almost  be- 
fore they  are  seated.  Then  follows  in 
quick  succession  pictures  of  white  roads 
bordered  with  purple  heather,  with  a  back- 
ground of  the  dark  green  of  the  mountain ; 
of  a  stone  bridge  spanning  the  blue  waters 
of  a  salmon  stream ;  of  a  wild  bit  of  moun- 
tain scenery,  with  a  road  seemingly  straight 
up  its  rugged  sides;  and  last  comes  the 
view  of  the  calm  waters  of  Loch  Katrine. 

The  boat  Rob  Roy  receives  the  party 
from  the  coach  and  rounds  Ellen's  Isle, 
sailing  almost  the  entire  length  of  the 
beautiful  loch.  When  it  finally  lands,  there 
is  another  coach  waiting  to  carry  us  across 
the  mountains,  and  on  to  Inversnaid, 
where,  after  visiting  the  waterfall,  the  train 
is  taken  for  Glasgow. 

Glasgow  is  not  a  pidluresque  town  —  in 
fadl,  the  Clyde  is  the  prettiest  thing  about 

32 


DRYBURGH    ARBEV 
WHERE   SIR    WALIER   SCOT  f    IS    BURIED 


SCOTLAND 


it — but  it  is  modern  and  progressive,  and 
it  has  two  attradive  public  buildings,  the 
cathedral  and  university. 


AYR: 


T>URNs's  land  lies  between  Glasgow  and 
-'-'  the  sea,  and  from  the  moment  that  one 
alights  from  the  train,  at  each  step  is  found 
some  haunt  of  the  much-loved  poet.  It 
takes  but  a  short  time  to  peep  through 
the  window  into  the  room  where  Burns 
was  born,  and  to  compare  the  humble  cot 
where  he  lived  his  life  with  the  magnificent 
place  he  occupies  in  death.  His  tomb  is 
set  high  up  on  a  hill  in  the  midst  of  a 
park  whose  sides  slope  down  to  the  bonnie 
Doon. 


33 


IRELAND 

Whtn  the  gliiii  is  up  to  thirty, 
Be  sure  the  'weather  ivill  he  dirty. 
fVhen  the  glass  is  high,  0  "very  ! 
Therein  be  rain  in  Cork  or  Kerry. 
JVhen  the  glass  is  loiv,  0  Lork! 
There'll  be  rain  in  Kerry  and  Cork. 
****** 

And  tvhen  the  glass  has  climbed  its  best. 
The  sky' II  be  loeeping  in  the  ivest. 

Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 

'T^HE  shortest  sea  voyage  between  Scot- 
-*■  land  and  Ireland  is  from  ^.tranraer  to 
Larne.  Stranraer  is  a  short  ride  from  Ayr, 
but  the  .S".  S.  Princess  Vi^oria  was  five  hours 
crossing  the  channel.  It  was  cold  and 
rough,  and  many  of  the  passengers  were  ill. 

^  45'  4^  '55*  w  w 

One  of  the  most  fascinating  of  trips  is 
that  to  the  Giant's  Causeway.  From  Larne 
the  road  takes  its  way  through  a  number 
of  thriving  towns,  and  the  country  looks 
neat  and  has  an  air  of  the  well-to-do. 

At  Portrush  the  scene  changes,  and  be- 
comes, almost  at  once,  one  of  wild  rugged- 
ness.  The  cliffs  rise  high  on  one  side, 
and  the  steep  precipice  at  the  edge  of  the 
tramway  goes  down  to  the  sea  on  the  other. 

34 


IRELAND 

This  Is  an  extraordinary  coast.  The  aftion 
of  the  waves  and  the  tides  on  the  lime- 
stone has  made  the  rocks  take  on  fantastic 
shapes.  The  ocean  is  always  tempestuous. 
It  must  be  beautiful  from  the  water,  but 
nothing  save  small  boats  can  venture  here, 
so  the  view  is  almost  unknown.  This  sort 
of  scene  continues  until  we  reach  Dunluce 
Castle. 

Perched  on  the  summit  of  an  isolated 
rock,  not  far  from  the  shore,  is  this  pidtur- 
esque  fortress,  separated  from  the  main- 
land by  a  deep  chasm.  The  castle  is  reached 
by  a  drawbridge,  while  beneath,  the  waves 
beat  madly  against  the  sides  of  the  rock, 
black  with  the  age  of  centuries. 

The  word  "causeway"  means  paving,  and 
these  Irish  giants  paved  well.  Basaltic  rock 
is  plentiful  along  the  north  coast,  but  this 
particular  distridl  alone  embraces  these  odd 
varieties  of  form.  The  caves  along  the 
coast  can  be  seen  only  by  means  of  row- 
boats.  These  are  manned  by  strong  and 
trustworthy  sailors.  The  sea  is  very  rough, 
and  the  boatmen  delight  in  making  the 
trip  seem  even  more  hazardous  than  per- 
haps it  really  is.  After  the  caves  have  been 
explored  the  boat  is  rowed  to  the  extreme 
end  of  the  Causeway,  and  it  is  during  the 

35 


BY  THE  WAY 

walk  back  that  we  get  the  best  idea  of 
these  wonderful  formations,  and  have  a 
hair-raising  experience  on  a  narrow  path 
three  hundred  and  twenty  feet  in  air.  At 
first  it  was  delightful  —  high,  of  course, 
but  with  a  broad  path.  On  turning  a  sharp 
corner,  suddenly  we  came  to  a  narrowing 
of  the  way,  with  nothing  but  rocks  and 
sky  above,  and  rocks  and  sea  below.  We 
dared  not  turn  back,  and  we  walked  that 
terrible  pass  until  we  came  to  a  widening 
in  the  path  —  it  seemed  hours  —  and  then 
Ruth  and  I  sat  down  and  cried  from  sheer 
exhaustion.  It  cost  us  ten  shillings  to 
enter  by  the  sea  and  six  to  make  our  exit 
by  land. 

How  is  that  for  the  downtrodden  Irish  ? 

KILLARNEY : 

T  WISH  I  were  a  poet!  But  even  the  poet 
-*•  laureate,  who  recently  visited  here,  says, 
"Words  cannot  do  justice  to  this  sweet, 
sad  scene."  His  word  "sad"  pleased  me, 
for  I  said  yesterday  to  Ruth  that  the 
scenery  of  Ireland  has  a  tenderness  about 
it  that  makes  one  be  quiet  and  think 
things. 

We    started   at    nine-thirty  in   a   four- 
horse  coach  with  a  bugler.    The  road  lies 

36 


o  o 
>  c 

C/)    ^r, 

n 


IRELAND 

along  the  north  side  of  the  lower  lake, 
and  it  wasn't  long  before  the  exquisite 
mountain  scenery  came  into  view.  The 
Purple  Mountains  grew  more  interesting 
at  every  step.  Presently  we  came  to  Kate 
Kearney's  cottage,  and  our  Irish  guide 
turned  and  asked,  in  the  richest  of  brogues: 

**  Oh  !  have  you  ever  heard  of  Kate  Kearney? 
She  lived  at  the  Lakes  of  Killarney  ; 
One  glance  of  her  eye  would  make  a  man  die; 
And  have  you  never  heard  o{  Kate  Kearney?" 

Further  on  we  struck  the  mountain  pass, 
where  the  coach  could  not  go.  We  dis- 
mounted and  were  placed  on  ponies.  I 
thought  at  first  I  could  not  ride  one,  but 
I  soon  got  used  to  the  saddle,  and  I  would 
not  have  missed  the  wild,  weird  pass  over 
the  mountain  for  anything.  There  was 
nothing  "  sad  "  or  "  tender  "  about  thaL  It 
was  fearful,  awesome  and  mysterious. 

We  left  the  ponies  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountains  and  paid  toll  into  Lord  Bran- 
don's estate  in  order  to  reach  the  boats. 
Lunch  was  served  on  the  banks  of  the 
upper  lake. 

These  lakes  have  to  be  explored  in  row- 
boats,  on  account  of  the  narrows,  a  pass 
between  the  rocks  not  more  than  ten  feet 

37 


BY  THE  WAY 

apart.  Such  varied  beauty  I  have  seen 
nowhere  else.  The  tender  grace  of  the 
heather-strewn  valley  against  the  back- 
ground of  hills,  the  frequent  change  from 
the  gentle  to  the  stern,  the  calm-flowing 
waters,  the  smiling  cascades  turning  into 
dashing  catarads  over  dangerous  piles,  are 
a  never-ending  source  of  surprises. 

The  upper  lake  is  more  placid  and  less 
changeable,  but  the  lower  has  every  change, 
from  smooth, glass-like  waters  to  the  rapids, 
which  we  "shoot"  in  no  fearless  manner. 
Finally  we  alight  on  Innisfallen  Island  to 
see  the  ruins  of  the  abbey ;  then  we  cross 
to  Ross  Castle.  Here  another  coach  and 
four  was  in  waiting  to  carry  us  home. 
After  ten  miles  by  coach,  five  on  horse- 
back and  thirteen  by  boat,  I  adually  dress 

for  dinner. 

****** 

We  were  up  with  the  larks  this  morn- 
ing, packed  everything  very  carefully,  sent 
the  basket  off  by  carted  luggage,  and  nearly 
came  to  blows  with  the  stupid  paddy  at 
the  station  over  the  settlement. 

After  breakfast  the  coach  came  dashing 
up,  and  away  we  flew  again,  over  the  purple 
hills,  through  shady  lanes,  past  the  wee 
farms  and  the   hovels,  catching  glimpses 

38 


IRELAND 

of  castles,  churches  and  ruins.  The  most 
beautiful  of  all  is  Muckross  Abbey.  I  had 
no  idea  we  could  possibly  repeat  the 
pleasures  of  yesterday,  but  in  some  respedls 
we  exceeded  them.  Our  road  today  wound 
up  and  around  Eagle  Nest  Mountain,  in 
the  dark  recesses  of  which  the  eagle  builds 
its  nest.  Here,  too,  is  the  home  of  the 
famous  Killarney  echo.  The  effeft  pro- 
duced by  the  notes  of  a  bugle  is  almost 
supernatural. 

The  coachmen  have  a  clever  manner  of 
talking  to  the  echoes.  For  instance,  ours 
called  out,  "  Pat,  were  you  drunk  last 
night?"  and  the  confession  came  back 
from  a  thousand  hills,  "  Drunk  last  night, 
drunk  last  night,  drunk  last  night." 

The  literary  Killarnian  claims  for  this 
beautiful  region  that  it  was  the  ruins  of 
the  old  castle  on  the  shores  of  the  Middle 
Lake  which  called  forth  Tennyson's  mas- 
terpiece, "  The  Bugle  Song." 

The  Purple  Mountains  take  their  name 
from  the  purple  of  the  heather.  One  can 
see  every  shade,  from  the  light  pink-lav- 
ender to  the  dark,  almost  red,  purple. 

We  arrived  at  Glengariff  just  as  the  sun 
was  sinking.  The  valley,  the  lakes,  the 
mountains,  the  red  coach,  with  its  four  big 

39 


BY  THE  WAY 

horses  darting  in  and  out  of  the  winding 
road,  and  finally  galloping  up  to  the  ex- 
quisite little  inn  at  Glengariff,  high  on  a 
knoll  overlooking  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Bay  of  Bantry,  are  among  the  delightful 
details  of  today's  pifture. 

The  shore  line  of  this  attradlive  bay  can 
be  appreciated  only  when  one  is  taken  in 
a  small  boat,  threading  one's  way  through 
the  numberless  private  yachts  that  dot 
its  waters.  One  of  the  gentlemen  of  our 
party,  thinking  to  have  some  sport  with 
the  boatman,  said  that  only  one  lady  could 
go  in  each  boat,  and  that  he  must  choose 
the  one  he  wished  to  go  with  him.  After 
a  critical  survey  the  answer  came,  "  Divil 
a  step  will  I  go  without  the  both  of  yez !  " 
and  he  handed  us  both  into  the  boat,  and 
left  the  gentlemen  to  seek  a  boat  by  them- 
selves. 


W 


CORK: 

'E  LEFT  the  coach  at  Bantry  and  took 
an  observation  car  to  Cork.  After  a 
rest  of  a  few  hours  and  a  dainty  luncheon 
a  jaunting-car  "shook"  us  over  the  road 
to  Blarney  Castle.  The  road  lies  through 
a  beautifully  cultivated  country.  There  is 
a  charm  about  the  sweet  old  castle  that  is 

40 


IRELAND 

indescribable.  The  view  from  the  top  is  su- 
perb, taking  in  the  valley  of  the  Lee,  with 
the  old  Roman  bridge  in  the  far  distance. 

When  any  one  tells  you  that  he  kissed 
the  Blarney  stone,  take  it  with  several 
grains  of  salt.  It  is  a  physical  impossibility 
for  one  who  wears  petticoats. 

Cork  is,  to  my  mind,  the  prettiest  town 
in  all  Ireland.  It  lies  in  the  midst  of  lime- 
stone quarries,  and  is  white  to  a  degree.  I 
had  not  read  Thackeray's  "Sketch  Book" 
before  I  came  here,  and  I  wondered  why 
some  one  had  not  raved  over  this  magnifi- 
cent part  of  the  world.  I  have  since  been 
delighted  to  find  that  he  did  rave  —  I  use 
the  word  advisedly — as  no  one  but  Thack- 
eray can. 

Cork  has  more  well-known  landmarks 
than  any  other  place  in  Ireland.  In  a  little 
three-storied  bell-tower  in  the  center  of 
the  town  hangs  the  chime  of  bells  made 
famous  by  Francis  Mahony  in  his  — 

*«  With  deep  afFedlion  and  recolleftion 
I  often  think  of  the  Shandon  bells." 

One  of  the  pleasant  drives  from  Cork 
takes  one  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  home  at 
Youghal.  For  more  than  four  hundred 
years  it  has  stood  with  but  little  change. 

41 


BY  THE  WAY 

Attached  to  the  grounds  is  the  garden 
where  Raleigh  experimented  with  the  po- 
tato, which  here  was  first  grown  in  Ireland. 
We  were  a  rather  solemn  lot  on  the 
drive  to  Queenstown,  for  all  but  Ruth  and 
me  were  to  sail  from  there  for  home. 
This  seeing  people  off  isn't  what  "it's 
cracked  up"  to  be,  especially  when  they 
are  off  for  the  land  where  *'  some  one  loves 
you  and  thinks  of  you  far  away,"  but  we 
wished  them  bon  voyage^  and  Ruth  and  I 
turned  our  hard-set  faces  northward. 

^  ^  4fr  ^  ^  ^ 

DUBLIN — Great  Denmark  Street: 

•*No  wind  can  drive  my  bark  astray. 
Nor  change  the  tide  of  destiny." 

\  ND  so  this  all  too  happy  summer  must 
'^~*-  come  to  a  close.  I  remain  here  to 
study,  and  Ruth  goes  to  Iceland.  We 
shall  meet  in  the  spring,  when  I  shall  have 
taken  my  degree  (.f*),  and  go  to  sunny  Italy 
together. 

It  is  said  that  to  travel  through  Europe 
with  one  and  still  remain  friends,  stamps 
both  as  remarkably  amiable  persons. 
Without  wishing  to  seem  egotistical,  I'd 
like  you  to  know  that  before  bidding  Ruth 

42 


IRELAND 

good-bye  she  invited  me  to  join  her  later 
in  this  jaunt  through  Italy. 

I  was  sitting  on  the  deck  of  the  ship 
that  was  to  carry  Ruth  away  from  me, 
looking  at  the  lights  out  over  Dublin 
Bay,  when  some  one  touched  me  on  the 
shoulder,  and,  on  turning  around,  there 
stood  dear  Miss  B.,  who  was  with  us  for 
a  time  at  Killarney.  I  met  her  father  on 
the  street  the  other  day,  and  told  him  of 
Ruth's  intended  departure.  They  were 
very  good  to  come  to  us  that  night,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  their  kindness  in  help- 
ing me  over  these  first  days  without  my 
blessed  Ruth.  Through  them  I  have 
made  some  charming  friends  who  occupy 

the  time  before  I  start  in  to  study. 
****** 

I  have  had  a  delightful  outing,  one 
which  enabled  me  to  see,  and  in  an  un- 
common manner,  certain  out-of-the-way 
places  where  the  casual  tourists  rarely  go, 
and  it  has  all  been  due  to  the  friends  of 
Miss  B.  These  Irish  know  how  to  do 
things  well. 

We  started  away,  a  regular  cavalcade, 
with  most  of  the  women  in  the  coach  and 
a  few  on  horseback.  The  servants  went 
ahead  with  the  wagons  carrying  the  viands 

43 


BY  THE  WAY 

and  rugs,  and,  oh,  a  hundred  things  we 
Americans  would  never  think  of. 

Dublin  has  more  pleasure  resorts  at  her 
door  than  any  other  city  in  the  world. 
We  drove  out  through  Phcenix  Park,  pass- 
ing the  summer  home  of  the  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant of  Ireland.  We  made  our  first  stop 
at  Killiney  Castle  to  get  the  fine  view  of 
Dublin  Bay.  It  was  from  this  spot  that 
the  poet  wrote : 

*'0  Bay  of  Dublin! 

My  heart  you're  troublin'. 
Your  beauty  haunts  me 
Like  a  fever  dream." 

Then  we  dashed  away  to  Bray  and  Bray's 
Head,  along  the  Esplanade,  through  the 
Scalp,  a  wild  bit  of  country  in  the  county 
of  Wicklow,  and  the  Dargle,  which  is  a 
romantic  glen.  We  never  go  slowly  — 
the  horses  are  either  galloped,  or  stopped 
altogether.  Then  on  we  fllew  through 
Enniskerry,  a  lovely  little  village,  where 
everybody  stopped  or  ran  to  the  door  to 
watch  us  go  by,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
and  always  a  "  God  bless  ye  ! " 

I  could  not  believe  such  magnificence 
was  possible  in  Ireland  as  was  found  at 
Powers  Court  had  I  not  seen  it  with  my 

44 


IRELAND 

own  eyes.  It  is  the  finest  private  mansion 
I  have  seen  in  all  my  travels.  The  Vale 
of  Avoca,  which  called  from  Moore  these 
lines, 

**  There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  the  vale  on  whose  bosom  these  bright  waters 
meet," 

did  not  appeal  to  me  so  much  as  did 
Killarney. 

The  city  ofKilkenny,  called  the  "Marble 
City,"  impressed  itself  on  me.  The  streets 
are  paved  with  marble  of  their  own  quarry- 
ing, and  what  is  better,  the  inhabitants 
have  fire  without  smoke,  from  a  peculiar 
coal  found  in  that  district.  They  also 
claim  to  have  water  without  mud,  and 
earth  without  bog,  and  however  true  these 
boasts  may  be,  it  is  a  wonderfully  clean 
city.  The  coach  was  sent  back  from  this 
place  by  the  servants,  and  we  returned  by 
train. 

It  all  seems  very  tame  in  this  telling  of 
mine,  but  the  trip,  every  moment  of  it, 
was  delightful.  Sometimes  we  would  all 
get  out  and  walk;  sometimes  the  ladies 
would  exchange  with  the  men  and  ride 
horseback;  or  when  it  would  rain  for  a 
few  moments  the  men  would  crowd  into 

45 


BY  THE  WAY 

the  coach.  Then  there  would  be  good 
fun,  and  I  could  get  an  idea  of  their 
thoughts.  They  are  great  story-tellers, 
these  Irish,  and  have  such  warm  hearts. 
And  the  songs  they  sang,  when  shall  I 
ever  hear  such  again  ?  And  yet  there  was 
not  a  young  person,  that  is,  one  under 
thirty,  in  the  party. 

Other  things  besides  wine,  my  dear, 
**  improve  with  age." 

There  is  a  pathos  about  the  love  of  an 
Irishman  for  his  country  that  is  most 
touching,  and  each  county  vies  with  the 
others  in  patriotic  loyalty ;  and  let  me  whis- 
per in  your  ear,  that  the  Irish  gentry  are  far 
and  away  ahead  of  "what  the  world  thinks" 
they  are.    In  fad,  they  are  "deloitful." 

I  suppose  you  have  noticed  the  number 
of"  Kills"  which  form  some  part  of  many 
of  the  names  I  have  referred  to.  "Kir'is 
the  Gaelic  for  "  church." 

One  of  my  Irish  friends  told  the  story 
of  an  Englishman  who  went  over  to  Ire- 
land and  fell  upon  the  following  conver- 
sation between  two  tough-looking  natives: 

"I'm  afther  being  over  to  Kilpatrick," 
said  the  first. 

"An'  I,"  replied  the  other,  "am  afther 
being  over  to  Kilmary." 

46 


IRELAND 

"And  where  are  you  going  now? "  asked 
number  one. 

"To  Kllmore,"  was  the  answer. 

The  frightened  Englishman  concluded 

not  to  tarry  in  such  a  bloodthirsty  country, 

and  stood  not  upon  the  order  of  his  going. 
*  •»•  -x-  *  *  * 

Since  writing  that  last  letter  I  have  been 
very  busy  getting  in  trim  for  work,  and  at 
last  I'm  "fit." 

I  have  been  taking  my  afternoons  to 
see  this  wonderful  city.  I  told  you,  did  I 
not,  that  because  I  am  in  these  blessed 
petticoats,  I  am  obliged  to  recite  "apart" — 
not  apart  from  the  petticoats,  but  apart 
from  the  unpetticoated  sort. 

My  home  is  in  quite  a  good-looking 
house,  and  it  is  well  furnished,  but  the 
landlady  is  away,  and  the  maidens  do  it  up 
when  and  how  they  please.  I  have  a  large 
room  "front,"  and  as  I  study  here  every 
morning,  and  write  much  of  the  remainder 
of  the  time,  my  room  is  "tidied"  only 
when  I  ask  for  it,  and  then,  of  course,  it  is 
an  extra. 

Will  you  believe  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  nowhere  in  Europe  have  I  seen  more 
lovely  or  better  dressed  women  than  right 
here  on  Sackville  Street  ?   I  have  accounted 

47 


BY  THE  WAY 

for  it,  In  some  degree,  by  the  fa6l  that  our 
Irish  cousins  follow  the  American  styles 
more  closely  than  do  any  of  their  immedi- 
ate sisters.  The  Irish  woman  is  always  in 
good  form.  One  never  sees  her  wearing 
any  sort  of  jewelry  before  luncheon.  She 
is  usually  found  in  the  morning  in  a  short, 
tailored  skirt,  a  chic  blouse  and  hat;  some 
dainty  confedlion  of  lace  and  muslin  in 
the  afternoon;  and,  almost  without  excep- 
tion, the  middle  class,  as  well  as  the  gentry, 
"dress"  for  dinner;  then  it  is  one  sees 
the  beautiful  jewels  handed  down  by  their 
forebears. 

The  college  buildings  are  delightfully 
quaint,  with  multitudes  of  old-fashioned 
wee  window-panes  which  stud  their  faces. 
Statues  of  two  of  Ireland's  beloved  sons, 
Burke  and  Goldsmith,  are  on  either  side 
of  the  entrance.  Opposite  is  the  famous 
Bank  of  Ireland,  beautiful  in  design,  and 
the  general  post-office.  Statues  of"Hiber- 
nia,"  "Mercury"  and  "Fidelity"  adorn  the 
latter. 

For  some  reason  an  Irishman,  in  his 
native  country,  will  not  admit  ignorance 
on  any  subjedt.  He  would  rather  tell  you 
wrongly  than  to  say,  "  I  don't  know." 

Some  one  asked  a  "jarvey"  what  those 

48 


o  r)  H 

CO?: 
«  C-'  >- 

►-  m  " 
Z  O  "j 


IRELAND 

statues  I  have  just  mentioned  were.  Pat 
hadn't  their  names  handy  in  his  mind,  so 
he  drew  on  his  imagination,  and  replied: 
"Thim's  the  twelve  apostles,  sur." 

"Twelve  apostles,"  shouted  the  in- 
quirer; "why,  man,  there  are  only  three 
>  of  them ! "  To  which  Pat,  not  to  be  caught 
by  such  a  trifle,  said : 

"Sure,  an'  yer  honor  wouldn't  have 
thim  all  out  in  this  dom  rain,  would  ye? 
The  rest  of  'em  are  inside  sortin'  o'  the 
letters." 

The  first  day  I  was  shown  over  Dublin 

my  guide,  in  pointing  out  the  college,  said : 

"  This  is  the  Library,  and  an  institute  for 

learning."    I   asked,  "  How  far  does   the 

Library  extend?"  meaning,  which  was  the 

Library   and    which    the    Institute.    The 

honest,  but  thick-headed,  paddy   replied, 

"To  the  roof,  mum." 

****** 

The  comparative  negled  by  tourists  of 
a  country  hke  Ireland,  where  nature  has 
lavished  her  charms  with  such  wonderful 
profusion,  can  only  be  explained  by  its 
hitherto  unsettled  condition,  and  its  long- 
a-dying  notoriety  for  inferior  accommoda- 
tions and  modes  of  transportation.  But 
whatever  difficulties  and  discomforts  may 

49 


BY  THE  WAY 

have  existed  to  deter  the  traveler  in  former 
days,  it  seems  to  me  that  little  now  is 
wanting  to  render  a  tour  through  Ireland 
all  that  the  rational  traveler  can  desire. 

It  is  well  nigh  impossible  to  tell  of  the 
exquisite  scenery  of  the  beautiful  island 
without  seeming  fulsome.  Almost  every 
county  so  teems  with  prehistoric  remains, 
and  the  island  is  so  begirt  with  varied  at- 
tractiveness, that  it  is  as  alluring  to  the 
student  and  artist  as  it  is  to  the  pleasure 
seeker. 


50 


ITALY 

For  Italy,  my  Italy ,  mere  luords  are  faint ! 

No  "writer's  pencil  can  con-vey  thy  hea'ven^s  hlue. 

Thy  languorous  hay. 

Thou  art  thine  oivn  interpreter. 

I  dream  and  ivake  and  find  no  ivords  for  her  — 

For  Italy  '  s  soft-storied  charms 

I  throio  the  English  ivords  aiva^. 

Her  gondolas  drip  through  the  night  — 

/  stretch  my  arms  toivard  Napoli, 

And  '■'■Monte  Bella'''  softly  say. 

Harriet  Axtell  Johnstone. 

SORRENTO : 

How  splendid  it  seems  to  be  free  again ! 
And  yet  I  do  believe  it  does  one 
good  —  having  been  out  of  the  habit  of 
studying  —  to  take  a  few  months  every 
year  or  so  and  to  give  close  application  to 
some  subje6t. 

I  was  glad  when  the  time  came  to  end 
traveling  and  to  begin  study;  and  now  I 
am  glad  that  I  can  cease  my  studies  and 
again  begin  sight-seeing. 

Ruth,  as  you  know,  found  it  necessary 
to  return  to  America  before  rejoining  me. 
She  sailed  from  New  York  the  i8th  and 
I  met  her  at  Ponta  Delgada.  Ponta  Del- 
gada  is  the  chief  city  of  the  island  of  San 

51 


BY  THE  WAY 

Miguel,  which,  in  turn,  is  the  principal 
island  of  the  Azores,  and  it  is  prominent 
for  having  the  most  beautiful  gardens  in 
the  world. 

Among  the  passengers  who  boarded  the 
ship  with  me  at  Ponta  Delgada  was  a  de- 
lightful Portuguese  family  —  the  mother, 
son  and  his  wife  —  who  came  with  us  to 
Italy.  They  are  cultured  people,  and  speak 
English  perfedly,  though  the  mother  and 
wife  had  never  before  been  off  the  island. 

We  left  the  Azores  on  the  27th  of 
April,  passing  Gibraltar  on  May  Day. 
Gibraltar  is  not  so  frowning  as  I  had  im- 
agined, for  the  graceful  rock  smiled  down 

on  us  as  if  in  greeting. 

****** 

All  that  has  been  written  about  the  blue 
Mediterranean  is  true.  It  is  blue  as  noth- 
ing else  is.  The  sky,  those  days,  was 
greenish  pink,  and  you  know  what  a  de- 
light to  the  eye  is  the  blending  of  these 
colors.  But  the  one  bright  memory  that 
stands  out  clearest  when  I  think  of  the 
Mediterranean  is  the  sunset.  I  remember 
one  night  in  particular.  The  good  captain 
told  me  to  hasten  from  dinner.  I  drew  my 
chair  close  to  the  rail,  and  out  beyond 
the  horizon  I  saw  a  city  of  fire.   The  beau- 

52 


ITALY 

tiful  mansions,  and  cathedrals,  and  castles, 
with  turrets  and  towers,  were  all  ablaze. 
Through  the  streets  people  in  fiery  red 
draperies  were  flying  from  the  flames. 
Sometimes  an  old  man  with  flowing  beard 
appeared  in  the  midst  of  them,  and  with 
outstretched  hands,  would  seem  to  call 
aloud.  The  flames  turned  to  a  greenish 
gold,  the  smoke  rolled  away,  and  far  be- 
yond appeared  a  Moorish  village,  the 
temples  carved  of  alabaster.  Suddenly, 
through  the  lace-like  pillars,  came  the 
faintest  tint  of  pink,  growing  dimmer  and 
dimmer,  until  only  the  outlines  could  be 
discerned.  A  great  billowy  sea  of  foam 
rolled  over  the  village,  and  divided  on 
either  side  of  a  world  of  golden  fire,  and, 
as  I  gazed,  it  dropped  into  the  black  water. 

A  voice  said,  "  Come,  dear,  the  captain 
wants  you  to  see  the  moon  come  up  out 
of  the  sea."    It  was  my  blessed  Ruth. 

"  Did  you  see  that  burning  city  and 
Moorish  village?"  I  asked,  as  soon  as  I  had 
returned  to  earth.  "Yes,  dear,"  she  replied, 
and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  too. 

•56-  *  «•  •5«-  45-  * 

This  morning  we  were  called  at  five 
o'clock  to  see  the  sun  rise  over  Vesuvius. 
The  same  ball  of  golden  fire  which  went 

53 


BY  THE  WAY 

down  into  the  sea  that  night  crowned  for 
a  brief  moment  the  wonderful  Mount. 

The  Bay  of  Naples  is  unlike  anything 
else  on  earth.  On  one  side  are  the  castles, 
or  villas,  or  pleasure  resorts,  whichever  it 
be  that  comes  to  your  gaze  as  you  glide 
past;  on  the  other,  the  turquoise-blue 
water;  and  far  in  the  distance,  like  a  camel 
with  two  humps,  rising  out  of  the  sea,  is 
Capri.  The  air  is  filled  with  music,  and 
the  scene  is  one  of  the  wildest  confusion. 
Every  sort  of  craft  that  sails  the  seas,  every 
sort  of  flag,  every  sort  of  sound,  causes  you 
to  wonder  if  you  will  ever  get  through 
that  throng.  The  ship  is  stopped,  the 
steps  are  let  down  the  side,  and  the  dodtor 
and  the  purser  with  the  mail  come  on 
board. 

While  we  were  busy  with  our  letters 
from  home,  one  of  the  party  with  whom 
we  were  to  go  through  the  Blue  Grotto 
had  bargained  with  a  boatman  to  take  us 
to  the  ship  that  goes  to  Capri. 

The  mode  of  going  ashore  here  at 
Naples  is  different  from  that  of  any  other 
port  where  I  have  landed.  Hundreds  of 
stout  row-boats  come  from  the  various 
hotels,  just  as  the  omnibuses  meet  the 
trains  in  the  smaller  cities  at  home. 

54 


OLD  STEPS  AND  SEA   WALL,  CAPRI 


ITALY 

The  Blue  Grotto  must  be  visited  on  a 
clear,  calm  day,  and  some  old  travelers 
advised  us,  if  the  day  was  fine,  to  go  diredlly 
from  the  ship  before  landing.  The  captain 
allowed  us  to  leave  our  luggage  on  board, 
as  the  ship  will  stay  in  Naples  for  several 
days  to  unload  freight.  There  were  six 
of  us,  then,  transferred  to  the  German 
Lloyd  S.  S.  Nixe. 

As  we  sailed  away,  Vesuvius  and  Sor- 
rento were  to  the  left,  the  city  of  Naples 
behind  us,  and  the  outlines  of  Capri  ahead. 
We  went  diredily  to  the  Grotto,  or  rather 
as  near  as  the  large  boat  goes.  Here,  again, 
we  took  to  the  row-boats,  two  in  each. 

The  Grotto  itself  is  a  cavern  in  the  side 
of  the  huge  rocks  of  Capri.  It  is  necessary 
to  lie  flat  in  the  boat  to  get  through  the 
tiny  opening.  I  could  readily  see  why  the 
authorities  do  not  permit  visitors  on  stormy 
days,  for  the  sea  was  rough  even  on  this 
quiet  morning.  The  interior  of  the  cave 
is  high,  and  the  efFe6l  of  the  refledion  of 
the  sun  on  the  blue  waters  is  indescribable. 
Everything  under  water  takes  on  a  silvery 
hue,  and  the  echo  is  weird. 

On  board  the  ship  once  more,  we  sailed 
away  from  this  real  fairies'  abode  to  the 
town  of  Capri,  arriving  at  high  noon,  and 

ss 


BY  THE  WAY 

as  the  town  is  on  the  side  of  a  mountain, 
we  cHmbed  up  a  good  part  of  its  side  to 
get  a  lunch.  It  was  my  first  Itahan  meal, 
and  it  was  delicious.  Of  course  there 
was  macaroni  in  the  Italian  style,  with 
beef-stock  and  tomatoes,  and  fried  fresh 
sardines. 

The  dessert  was  a  fruit,  something  like 
our  California  plum,  which  I  tasted  for 
the  first  time  at  the  Azores, — the  nespera. 

After  the  repast  we  hired  a  carriage  for 
Anacapri.  The  road,  hewn  out  of  solid 
rock,  lies  along  the  mountainside,  giving 
us  a  magnificent  view  of  the  bay,  with 
Vesuvius  always  in  sight. 

We  caught  the  Nixe  on  her  return  trip 
to  Sorrento.  Here,  again,  the  little  boats 
meet  us,  each  bearing  the  name  of  its  hotel 
on  a  silken  banner.  The  boatman  shouts 
out  the  name  of  the  one  he  represents 
until  a  passenger  calls,  in  turn,  his  choice. 
We  were  going  to  the  Cocumella,  and  I 
wish  you  might  have  heard  the  boatman 
call,  in  his  soft,  musical  voice,  "Co — ceh  — 
m-e-1-l-a!  Co  —  ceh  —  m-e-1-l-a!"  The 
steward  helped  us  into  the  boat,  and  we 
were  rowed  to  an  opening  in  the  cliff.  The 
town  lies  on  the  top  of  perpendicular  rocks, 
and  we  struggled  up  five  hundred  steps 

56 


ITALY 

cut  in  a  tunnel  through  the  mountain, 
coming  out  at  the  top  into  the  lovely 
garden  of  this  hotel. 

The  Cocumella  was  once  a  monastery, 
and  its  situation  is  ideal.  Here  is  a  place 
where  I  should  be  willing  to  spend  the 
remainder  of  my  days. 

NAPLES : 

"D  UTH  is  such  a  brick !  She  is  not  afraid 
■'^  of  her  shadow,  and  she  likes  to  be 
alone  some  time  each  day.  That  remark 
was  called  forth  by  the  number  of  tourists 
one  meets  who  are  worn  to  the  bone  by 
companions  who  are  afraid  to  room  alone 
or  to  look  out  of  the  window  alone  —  to 
eat,  sleep,  walk,  talk,  or  pray  alone  —  and 
who  must  have  some  one  close  by  them 
every  moment  of  the  time. 

Last  night,  on  our  walk  about  Sorrento, 
we  called  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Marion 
Crawford. 

This  morning  in  two  carriages,  for  there 
were  eight  of  us,  we  went  for  the  drive 
from  Sorrento  to  Amalfi.  The  road,  cut 
out  of  the  rock,  with  a  balustrade  of  stone 
to  proted:  the  traveler  from  the  precipice, 
is  regarded  as  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of 
engineering    in    existence.     Sometimes    a 

SI 


BY  THE  WAY 

viadud:,  perhaps  five  hundred  feet  high, 
will  span  a  chasm.  The  road  winds  up 
and  around  the  mountain,  and  the  view, 
with  the  Bay  of  Naples  at  its  feet,  is 
sublimely  picturesque.  The  almost  per- 
pendicular sides  of  the  mountain,  on  the 
different  levels,  are  terraced  and  planted 
with  olive,  lemon,  or  other  fruit  trees. 

The  drive  was  ended  at  Vietri  about 
five,  and  we  returned  to  Naples  by  train, 
having  our  first  glimpse  of  Pompeii  and 

our  first  ride  on  an  Italian  railway. 
****** 

It  rained  in  torrents  all  day,  but,  nothing 
daunted,  we  started  for  the  Customs.  That 
sounds  very  commonplace  and  innocent, 
but  it  spells  a  mad,  wild  sort  of  a  time. 
In  the  first  place,  we  had  to  beg,  borrow, 
and  finally  to  steal  2.facchino  (porter),  and 
induce  him  to  get  a  boatman  to  fetch  our 
luggage  from  the  ship,  fully  a  mile  out  in 
the  bay.  We  paid  him  first  to  show  there 
were  no  hard  feelings,  again  to  get  a  tar- 
paulin to  cover  the  luggage,  and  again  and 
again  for — I  know  not  what. 

Then  we  sat  down  and  waited  —  stood 
up  and  waited  —  purchased  all  the  post- 
cards in  the  little  cafe  and  wrote  to  every 
one  we  knew  —  waited  some  more,  and, 

58 


ITALY 

finally  —  yes,  they  came.  There  was  an- 
other transferring  of  coins  —  always  from 
my  hand  into  that  of  the  facchino  —  then 
the  Customs  with  its  fees,  and  the  cabman 
with  his,  and  all  the  time  I  had  to  take 
their  word  for  the  change,  for  I  had  not 

mastered  the  lira. 

****** 

Before  leaving  Naples  we  visited  Pom- 
peii. I  was  disappointed  at  first  with  these 
wonderful  ruins.  There  is  much  that  one 
must  imagine.  One  must  take  the  word 
of  the  guides  for  everything,  and  they  have 
a  little  way  of  "space-filling"  which  has 
lost  its  charm  for  me.  But  Pompeii  grew 
on  me  each  moment  of  my  stay.  We  were 
taken  in  a  sedan  chair  carried  on  the 
shoulders  of  two  strong  peasants.  The 
general  appearance  is  that  of  a  town  which 
has  been  swept  by  a  tornado,  unroofing 
the  houses  and  leaving  only  the  walls 
standing.  It  is  on  these  walls  that  one 
finds  the  exquisite  bits  of  coloring  which 

has  given  us  the  Pompeian  tints. 

****** 

The  charm  of  Naples  lies  in  the  won- 
derful scenery  surrounding  it,  and  in  its 
street  scenes,  with  the  noise  and  clatter  of 
its    street   vendors.     Life    in   the    poorer 

59 


BY  THE  WAY 

quarters  is  like  that  in  no  other  city,  being 
free  and  open  to  public  gaze.  All  the 
duties  of  the  household  are  performed  in 
the  street. 

ROME: 

'TpHE  first  thing  to  learn  in  Rome  is  the 
■*•  pronunciation  of  the  name  of  the  street 
and  the  number  of  your  pension^  in  order 
that  you  may  be  able  to  get  home.  Our 
pronunciation  is  set-tahn-tah  dew-ey  vee-ah 
sis-teen-ahy  and  the  manner  with  which  we 
hop  into  a  cab  and  say  it  to  the  cocchiere 
stamps  us  as  old  Italians. 

Our  home  here  is  at  the  top  of  the  Scala 
di  Spagna  (Spanish  steps),  right  in  the 
heart  of  the  new  town.  We  walk  down 
the  steps  every  morning  as  we  start  out 
to  the  American  Express  office  to  get  our 
letters,  but  we  come  up  the  "lift" — for 
ten  centimes. 

"^  ^  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

It  is  absolutely  necessary  to  be  driven 
about  Rome  accompanied  by  a  guide, 
whether  one's  stay  is  to  be  of  long  or 
short  duration.  In  no  other  manner  can 
one  comprehensively  grasp  this  vast  array 
of  ancient  and  modern  art,  nor  the  colossal 
expanse  of  archite(5ture,  both  standing  and 

60 


STREET  SCENE,  NAPLES 


ITALY 

In  ruins.  After  having  been  shown  the 
important  places,  it  is  well  to  return  alone, 
and  at  leisure  ponder  over  those  things 
which  most  appeal  to  the  heart  as  well  as 
to  the  senses. 

I  have  had  a  careful  explanation  of  the 
significance  of  that  much-used  word  — 
"basilica."  Originally  it  was  a  portico 
separated  from  some  public  building,  not 
unlike  the  peristyle  at  our  Columbian  Ex- 
position, save  that  it  need  not,  of  necessity, 
be  near  any  body  of  water;  in  fad,  it  rarely 
was  in  the  old  Roman  days.  The  basilicas 
of  the  old  forums  were  really  walks  under 
cover.  In  later  days  these  porticos  were 
inclosed  and  made  into  churches.  The 
name  "basilica"  still  clung  to  them,  and 
now  the  oblong  space  forming  the  main 
body  between  the  pillars  in  any  church 
edifice,  without    regard    to   the    style    of 

architedure,  is  so  called. 

■X-  *  -Js-  *  *  * 

I  have  read  somewhere,  in-  the  reveries 
of  a  bachelor  (not  Ik  Marvel's),  that 
"style  is  born  IN  a  woman  and  ON  a 
man."  I  wonder  how  he  knew  —  perhaps 
he  had  been  in  Rome. 

The   style   of  the   greater   number  of 

6i 


BY  THE  WAY 

foreign  tourists  of  the  female  persuasion 
must  be  "in,"  as  there  is  little  visible  to 
the  naked  eye.  But  the  style  of  these 
Italian  soldiers  is  "on,"  indeed,  and  they 
are  on  dress  parade  the  livelong  day.  I 
have  used  all  my  superlatives,  but  really 
in  no  city  on  earth  does  one  see  such  glori- 
ously, exquisitely  dressed  little  men  as  are 
the  soldiers  of  Italy,  and  especially  of 
Rome.  The  Bersaglieri  form  the  elite 
corps,  and  wear  a  large  round  hat,  with  a 
multitude  of  cock's  plumes,  tipped  far  on 
one  side  of  the  head.  This  tribute  to  the 
swagger  appearance  of  the  soldiers  is  also 
applicable  to  the  young  priests,  monks 
and  students,  and  even  to  the  butlers  and 
footmen. 

On  a  fete  day  we  went  to  St.  Peter's, 
and  were  repaid  by  meeting  our  Portu- 
guese friends,  who  took  us  to  drive  through 
the  beautiful  parks  and  grounds  of  the 
Villa  Borghese,  returning  to  luncheon  with 
us  at  our  pension.  This  home  of  ours  is  a 
very  attractive  place,  but  it  tries  my  patience 
to  be  forced  to  go  through  a  ten-course 
dinner  each  night,  when  I  am  anxious  to 
get  out.  The  words  "change"  and  "haste" 
are  unknown  here,  and  it  is  only  endurable 

62 


ITALY 

because  the  dinner  is  so  exquisitely  pre- 
pared and  served. 

We  have  some  interesting  and  clever 
people  at  our  table  —  a  family  from  Bos- 
ton, two  girls  from  Washington,  a  brother 
and  sister  from  Philadelphia,  who  have 
lived  here  for  years,  and  a  beautiful  Cana- 
dian. The  last  named  sits  next  me,  and 
our  sotto  voce  conversations  have  brought 
out  the  fad  that  her  heart  is  full  of  love 
for  all  things.  She  is  Canadian  only  by 
birth,  and  among  the  array  of  smartly 
dressed  Americans  in  the  pension,  she  leads. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  put  on  record  as 
one  who  judges  a  woman  solely  by  her 
clothes;  but  oh,  the  American  woman 
here  is  incomparable.  I  agree  with  Lillian 
Bell,  that  the  women  of  no  other  race  can 
compare  with  her  in  dress,  or  taste,  or 
carriage.  She  is  bewitching!  She  is  a  type ! 
I  believe  I  once  told  you  that  we  had  no 
type.  I  take  it  back.  We  have,  and  so 
glorious  a  one  that  I  am  proud  to  claim 
kinship  with  her. 

You  will  be  shocked,  I  am  sure,  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  do  not  agree  with  Mr. 
Howells,  nor  yet  with  my  beloved  Haw- 
thorne, for  I  love  modern  Rome.    To  be 

63 


BY  THE  WAY 

sure,  Hawthorne  wrote  of  Rome  in  1858, 
and  Mr.  Howells  in  1864,  and  it  may  be 
the  shops  were  not  so  altogether  enticing 
in  those  early  days,  or  it  may  be  because 
they  were  not  women  that  the  shops  had 
no  charm  for  them  ;  but  if  they  had  known 
Castellani,  the  goldsmith  on  the  Piazzi  di 
Trevi,  who  executes  designs  from  the  old 
Grecian,  Etruscan  and  Byzantine  models, 
or  Roccheggiani's  exquisite  mosaics  and 
cameo  carvings,  it  is  probable  their  opin- 
ions would  be  modified. 

w  w  77  w  7?  w 

Michelangelo's  "Moses"  is  not  in  the 
big  St.  Peter's  of  the  Vatican,  but  in 
St.  Peter's  of  Vincoli.  This  was  a  surprise 
to  me,  for  I  had  supposed  to  the  contrary. 
I  had  asked  many  times,  to  no  avail,  why 
Michelangelo  put  horns  on  his  "  Moses," 
until  a  learned  monk  told  me  that,  in  an 
early  translation  of  the  Scriptures,  the 
word  "horns"  was  incorreftly  given  for 
"skin."  Notwithstanding  the  dispropor- 
tion of  its  outlines,  the  gigantic  statue  is, 
to  me,  the  most  wonderful  thing  ever  cut 
from  a  block  of  marble. 

w  ^  45"  4^  T^  ^ 

We  have  an  ascensor  in  our  pension. 
The  big  concierge  puts  me  in,  locks  the 

64 


ITALY 

door,  unlocks  the  catch,  and  lets  it  go. 
When  it  gets  to  my  floor  it  is  supposed 
to  stop,  and  in  the  same  breath  to  have  its 
door  unfastened,  and  all  I  have  to  do  is 
to  walk  out.  Sometimes,  however,  it  stops 
midway  between  floors,  and  then  I  wish  I 
had  walked  up.  I  find  Roman  and  Span- 
ish steps  just  as  fatiguing  to  climb  as  any 
others,  and   patronize   the   ascensors  with 

vigor. 

*         *  *         *  *         * 

We  went  by  appointment  one  day  to 
the  Rospigliosi  Palazzo  to  return  the  visit 
of  our  Portuguese  friends,  Signor  and 
Signora  A.,  and  were  taken  into  another 
part  of  the  palace  to  see  Guido  Reni's 
"Aurora."  The  pi6lure  is  painted  on  the 
ceiling,  and  there  is  an  arrangement  of 
mirrors  by  which  one  can  view  it  without 
having  to  tire  the  neck  with  looking  up  so 
constantly.  It  is  the  greatest  painting  that 
has  been  done  in  the  last  two  hundred 
years.  In  the  evening  we  all  went  to  hear 
"Gioconda"  at  the  Teatro  Adriano.  The 
Italian  audience  seemed,  by  the  uproarious 
applause  that  greeted  each  aria,  to  appre- 
ciate   the    music,  but    talked   continually 

through  it  all. 

****** 

65 


BY  THE  WAY 

We  have  revisited  many  of  the  places 
which  most  interested  us  during  our  three 
days'  drive  with  the  cicerone^  and  have 
whiled  away  many  delightful  mornings  in 
the  shops.  We  rest  a  little  in  the  early 
part  of  each  afternoon,  and  then,  almost 
invariably,  we  drive  on  the  Corso  and  to 
the  Pincian  Gardens,  where  the  band  plays 
from  five  until  an  hour  after  Ave  Maria. 
Here  one  sees  the  smart  Romans,  and  in 
fad:  people  of  nearly  every  race  on  earth, 
in  their  best  attire,  on  pleasure  bent. 

It  is  needless  to  tell  you  that  we  take  a 
carriage  sans  numero^  for  the  private  parks 
of  the  best  palazzos  allow  only  carriages 
without  numbers  to  enter. 

The  scene  on  the  Pincio  is  just  what  it 
was  in  Hawthorne's  day.  Read  his  descrip- 
tion of  it  in  the  "Italian  Note  Book," 
and  you  will  see  it  more  clearly  than  I  can 
make  you  understand.  It  is  a  continual 
fete  champetre. 

One  day,  while  we  were  obliged  to  stop 
on  account  of  a  jam  in  the  ring  of  carriages 
that  move  slowly  round  and  round  the 
circle  where  the  band  plays,  Ruth  stepped 
from  the  vehicle  to  get  nearer  the  beautiful 
fountain  of  Moses  to  make  a  little  sketch 
of  it.    I  sat  alone  listening  to  the  glorious 

66 


ITALY 

Italian  band.  And  while  my  thoughts  were 
thousands  of  miles  away,  and  very  near 
the  one  to  whom  this  message  goes  first, 
some  one  spoke  to  me  in  French,  and 
asked  if  I  would  have  the  goodness  to  go 
to  his  madame.  It  was  the  serving-man 
of  our  fellow-voyager,  she  of  the  same 
initials  as  my  own.  I  looked  in  the  direc- 
tion he  indicated,  and  there,  not  ten  car- 
riages back,  she  was,  so  hemmed  in  that 
it  was  impossible  to  drive  alongside. 

As  I  left  my  seat  and  walked  over  to 
her,  she  met  me  with  the  radiant  face  and 
smiling  greeting  of  an  old  friend.  She  is 
beautiful,  with  that  inimitable  something 
about  her  that  attradis  one,  and  I  won- 
dered if  I  should  ever  know  what  her 
given  name  is.  I  knew  for  a  certainty  that 
I  should  never  ask.  She  is  not  old,  but 
gives  one  the  impression  that  she  has  lived 
long  enough  to  have  "  gathered  the  fruits 
of  experience  where  once  blossomed  the 
flowers  of  youthful  enthusiasm." 

The  bells  for^^i;^  Maria  had  rung.  The 
musicians  were  picking  up  their  music. 
The  Pincian  Hill  was  deserted.  Ruth  sat 
alone  in  her  carriage  as  this  woman's  hand 
grasped  mine  in  reluctant  parting. 

67 


BY  THE  WAY 

"Good  night,"  I  said. 

"Good  night!" 

You  recall  my  telling  you  of  Mrs.  F. 
on  the  ship  —  she  whom  I  met  on  the 
Pincian  Hill  —  and  her  invalid  son  ?  Well, 
he  was  not  her  son.    He  is  her  —  husband. 

It  will  be  no  breach  of  confidence  to  tell 
you  the  story,  for  I  have  her  permission  — 
withholding  her  name,  of  course. 

It  seems  that  the  husband,  in  his  youth, 
was  rather  "rapid";  and,  in  a  most  idiotic 
will,  the  father  left  him  a  large  fortune, 
provided  that  before  his  twenty-fifth  year 
he  had  been  married  to  a  woman  at  least 
ten  years  his  senior.  It  was  stipulated 
that  the  woman  was  not  to  know  the  con- 
ditions of  the  will  until  after  the  mar- 
riage, so  that  she  might  be  some  one  of 
worth  and  character,  capable  of  caring  for 
the  money. 

No  wonder  it  sobered  the  poor  young 
ftian.  He  swore  that  he  would  never 
marry,  and  that  those  who  were  ready  to 
grasp  the  fortune,  should  he  fail  to  "  keep 
the  bond,"  might  have  it,  and  be  —  happy. 

One  vacation  time  found  him  at  the 
home  of  a  classmate  in  one  of  the  eastern 
college  towns,  where  he  met  and  fell  in  love 
with  this  woman  whom  I  have  described 

68 


w  > 


ITALY 

to  you.  He  had  no  idea  she  was  older 
than  himself  until  he  had  made  her  a  pro- 
posal of  marriage.  She,  of  course,  refused 
what  she  conceived  to  be  a  foolish  boy's 
fancy.  He  sent  for  his  mother,  and  to- 
gether they  set  themselves  to  win  the  lady 
of  his  choice,  after  the  mother  had  "  looked 
her  up" — and  down  —  as  mothers  of  pre- 
cious boys  are  wont  to  do. 

In  the  meantime  the  young  man  was 
taken  very  ill,  in  his  delirium  calling  for 
his  love,  who  finally,  at  the  physician's 
urgent  request,  went  to  him,  and,  with  his 
mother,  cared  for  him. 

It  was  the  day  before  his  twenty-fifth 
birthday.  The  mother  was  frantic  at  the 
thought  that  her  son  was  to  lose  his  for- 
tune. He  cared  little  for  the  money,  save 
that  it  would  enable  him  to  shower  favors 
upon  this  love  of  his.  He  begged  her  to 
marry  him  that  night  to  save  him  from 
some  great  trouble  —  if  she  ever  regretted 
it  for  one  moment  she  should  be  free  — 
that  he  could  not  in  honor  tell  her  why  it 
was  so  necessary  that  the  marriage  be  sol- 
emnized at  once.  She  had  grown  fond  of 
him,  yet  naturally  hesitated  to  do  either 
him  or  herself  injustice.  Finally  his  help- 
lessness and  his  mother's   agony  proved 

69 


BY  THE  WAY 

too  much  for  her,  and  just  before  the  mid- 
night they  were  married  at  his  bedside. 

Who  can  account  for  the  vagaries  of  a 
woman's  fancy  ?  The  foolish  conditions 
which  she  made  a  part  by  this  contrad: 
were:  that  they  should  live  abroad  where 
they  were  not  known,  and  that  she  should 
be  known  as  his  mother. 

His  own  mother,  otherwise  a  strong, 
sensible  woman,  agreed  to  everything,  so 
great  was  her  anxiety  about  her  son. 

In  another  week  they  had  started  for 
Europe,  and  I  have  accounted  to  you  the 
strange  manner  in  which  their  names  ap- 
peared on  the  ship's  register.  It  served  as 
a  safeguard  against  inquisitive  people,  and 
every  one  took  it  for  granted  that  they 
were  mother  and  son  —  and  she  a  widow. 

Immediately  they  landed  they  met  an 
old  friend  of  hers,  and  thus  began  a  series 
of  explanations,  for  her  friend  knew  she 
had  no  son. 

Fortunately  this  woman  was  a  brave, 
true  friend,  and  her  advice  v/as  so  heroic 
that  the  bride  was  speechless  before  such 
fearlessness. 

She  said  to  her:  "You  must  stop  all  this 
foolishness  at  once.  There  is  absolutely 
no  excuse  for  such  deceit.    One  falsehood 

70 


ITALY 

paves  the  way  for  hundreds  of  others.  It 
has  already  cost  you  the  loss  of  your  peace 
of  mind  and  it  is  the  cause  of  your  hus- 
band's continued  illness.  How  can  you 
expe(5t  him  to  be  strong,  while  living  a 
lie?" 

This  last  statement  was  pretty  hard  to 
accept,  but  it  proved  that  her  liking  for 
her  young  husband  had  grown  into  love, 
for  her  one  desire  was  to  see  him  well  and 
strong. 

Her  pride,  however,  stood  in  her  way 
and  she  must  have  advice.  Everything 
else  the  friend  said  was  true,  for  already 
her  day  had  become  a  hideous  nightmare 
with  this  constant  fear  of  meeting  some 
one  whom  she  knew.  And  this  is  why  she 
sent  her  footman  for  me  the  day  of  the 
concert  in  the  Pincian  Gardens. 

She  explained  that  she  had  heard  Ruth 
and  me  discussing  points  in  ontology  on 
the  ship,  and  wanted  to  ask  me  if  what 
her  friend  said  was  true.  She  told  me  the 
story  just  as  I  have  told  it  to  you,  not 
naming  herself.  I  divined  at  once  it  was 
her  own,  but  did  not  let  her  feel  that  I 
had  perceived  it,  and  for  answer  I  said : 

"  How  I  should  love  to  meet  that  friend ! 
Most  assuredly  she  is  right.    Falsehood 

71 


BY  THE  WAY 

and  deceit  bring  nothing  but  suffering. 
Send  word  to  that  poor  foolish  woman  at 
once  that  you  too  are  opposed  to  her 
living  a  lie  any  longer." 

It  was  listening  to  this  tale  that  made 
me  forget  the  crowd,  the  perfume  of  the 
flowers,  and  even  the  exquisite  music  of 
the  King's  band. 

w  w  75"  w  w  w 

How  glad  I  am  that  I  saw  dear  old 
England  first,  for  it  seems  very  young 
when  compared  to  Rome.  Everything  here 
is  twenty  centuries  or  more  old,  therefore 
you  may  imagine  that,  by  comparison, 
things  only  a  few  hundred  years  old  are 
yet  in  their  infancy. 

Apropos  of  age,  while  at  Oxford  a  stu- 
dent told  us,  with  much  solemnity,  that 
Magdalen  College  "was  built  in  1490,  be- 
fore you  were  discovered."  The  do6lor 
said,  "Well,  what  of  it?"  I  was  shocked 
at  the  good  dod:or,  and  was  much  im- 
pressed by  the  great  age;  but  I  understand 
the  doftor's  sarcasm  now,  for  he  had  re- 
cently returned  from  Rome. 

The  "oldest  church  in  Rome,"  how- 
ever, reminds  one  of  "the  favorite  pupil 
of  Liszt."   I  am  meeting  with  them  still. 

The  most  magnificent  place  in  Rome, 

72 


ITALY 

after  the  Vatican,  is  the  Villa  Borghese 
( bor-gay-zay ),  not  only  on  account  of  the 
beautiful  park  which  contains  numerous 
ornamental  struftures,  little  temples,  ruins, 
fountains  and  statues,  but  also  on  account 
of  the  colledion  of  antiques  in  its  casino, 
or  gallery.  It  is  here  that  Canova's  marble 
statue  of  Pauline  Borghese  is  exhibited  — 
to  me  the  most  beautiful  marble  in  Rome. 
Here,  too,  is  Titian's  first  great  work, 
"  Sacred  and  Profane  Love."  I  fancy  that 
Titian  saw  life  from  many  view-points. 

Imagine  one  going  from  the  sublime  to 
the  ridiculous  —  from  the  gorgeous  Bor- 
ghese Villa  to  a  Rag  Fair.  A  Rag  Fair  is 
an  open-air  sale  of  everything  that  can  be 
thought  of,  from  a  garter  clasp  to  a  diadem. 
We  went  for  old  brass  candlesticks  of  the 
seven-pronged,  sacred  variety,  afterwards 
continuing  on  to  St.  Peter's,  where  we 
were  repaid  for  mounting  an  incline  of 
1,332  feet  up  through  the  dome  by  the 
view  of  all  Rome,  the  Vatican  gardens 
and  the  tops  of  the  "seven  hills." 

Mrs.  F.  joins  us  often  now.  She  went 
with  us  again  Thursday  to  the  church 
San  Paola  alle  Tre  Fontane  ( St.  Paul   of 

73 


BY  THE  WAY 

the  Three  Fountains).  It  is  kept  by  Trap- 
pist  monks,  a  silent  order.  They  never 
speak  to  each  other,  but  make  up  for 
it  when  visitors  come.  We  had  a  dear 
**  brother"  show  us  the  objedls  of  interest, 
and  he  presented  each  with  a  wee  drinking 
glass  to  measure  out  the  Eucalyptus  wine 
which  they  make  there. 

The  three  fountains  are  flowing  clear  as 
crystal,  and  whether  or  not  the  head  of 
St.  Paul  jumped  three  times  on  these 
spots,  as  tradition  has  it,  it  matters  little; 
but  the  simple  faith  of  the  sweet-faced 
sisters  who  knelt  and  drank  from  each 
spring  and  arose  freed  from  some  claim 
was  touching,  and  far  from  provoking  the 
mirth  that  some  people  feel  toward  these 
devout  pilgrims. 

En  route  home  we  stopped  at  the  Eng- 
lish cemetery  and  plucked  a  flower  from 
the  grave  of  Keats  and  of  Shelley  and  of 
Constance  Fenimore  Woolson. 

We  saw  Hilda's  Tower,  too,  that  day. 
I  had  occasion  to  thank  Hawthorne  for 
"The  Marble  Faun"  and  "Italian  Note 
Book,"  otherwise  I  should  not  have  been 
able  to  relate  the  story  of  Hilda  and  her 
tower.  In  truth,  all  Italy  would  have  re- 
mained as  a  closed  book  to  me  had  it  not 

74 


!0  "fl  <  w  O  en 

o  >  >  ^  m  :j 

m  >  H      > 
-    ZG 

> 


ITALY 

been  for  my  three  "H's,"  as  Ruth  calls 
them  —  Hawthorne,  Howells  and  Hutton. 
The  latter  says,  in  his  "  Literary  Land- 
marks of  Rome,"  that  the  "Italian  Note 
Book"  is  still  the  best  guide  to  Rome  that 
has  ever  been  written,  and  that  one  should 
read  it  before  coming,  again  while  here, 
and  yet  once  more  after  returning  home. 
I  shall  say  the  same  about  the  Land- 
marks, for  without  them  much  of  the 
charm  I  have  found  here  would  have  been 
lost. 

Tr  vF  w  w  w  w 

Yesterday  we  bade  St.  Peter's  good-bye 
on  our  way  to  Sant*  Onofrio.  Here,  again, 
a  bright  young  fr^ere  showed  us  over  the 
church  made  most  interesting  from  its 
association  with  Tasso.  There  are  some 
excellent  paintings  in  the  lunettes  under 
the  colonnade  of  the  cloisters. 

It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  show  Mrs.  F. 
anything,  as  her  appreciation  is  keen.  She 
knew  little  of  the  literary  landmarks  which 
she  passed  each  day,  and  I  pointed  out  to 
her  the  house  where  Keats  lived,  on  the 
left  as  one  goes  down  the  Spanish  steps, 
the  house  of  Shelley  on  the  right,  with 
the  lodgings  occupied  by  Byron  almost 
diredly  opposite. 

IS 


BY  THE  WAY 

On  our  return  from  Sant'  Onofrio,  she 
inquired  of  the  coachman  if  the  horses  were 
fit,  and  upon  his  answering  that  they  were 
good  for  several  hours,  she  turned  and  in 
a  low  voice  asked  me  to  remain  with  her 
as  long  as  possible.  I  understood.  From 
a  list  of  streets  and  numbers  which  I  had 
with  me,  we  selected  such  as  we  wished  to 
visit. 

On  the  Via  di  Bocca  di  Leona  we  found 
the  home  of  the  Brownings;  close  by,  the 
house  that  sheltered  Thackeray  in  Rome; 
and  not  far  away,  the  place  where  Adelaide 
Sartoris  lived.  In  rapid  succession,  then, 
we  made  "little  journeys"  to  the  Italian 
homes  of  Louisa  Alcott,  Helen  Hunt 
Jackson,  George  Eliot,  and  the  house 
where  Mrs.  Jameson  held  Sunday  soirees 
in  a  wee  two-by-four  room.  Mr.  Hutton 
and  I  did  good  work,  for  after  all  other 
sights  had  failed  to  interest,  our  (?)  liter- 
ary landmarks  succeeded  in  saving  the  day. 

ORVIETO : 

A  FTER  the  rather  strenuous  day,  the  ac- 
-^"^  count  of  which  closed  my  last  letter, 
we  settled  up  our  affairs  in  Rome,  heard 
for  the  last  time  the  Pope's  angel  choir, 
sent  off  our  luggage,  purchased  our  tickets, 

76 


ITALY 

with  innumerable  stop-overs,  and,  hardest 
of  all,  bade  good-bye  to  our  friends. 

Just  before  we  were  leaving,  Mrs.  F.'s 
footman  brought  to  the  door  of  our  com- 
partment in  the  traveling-carriage  an  arm- 
ful of  roses  and  a  letter.  The  flowers 
brightened  all  the  hot  dusty  day,  but  the 
letter — oh,  that  letter  will  brighten  all  the 
years  that  may  come  to  me,  and  I  have 
tucked  the  precious  words  away  in  the 
warmest  corner  of  my  heart,  to  be  taken 
out  on  the  rainy  days  of  life,  and  fondled 
like  some  of  childhood's  memories. 

I  did  not  see  her  again  after  she  left 
me  at  the  door  that  evening,  nor  had  she 
spoken  one  word  to  indicate  that  she 
knew  that  I  knew.  She  paid  me  the  high- 
est tribute  of  friendship  —  silence. 

Among  other  things  in  the  letter,  she 
said: 

"The  Catholic  Church  has  not  a  mo- 
nopoly of  *ears  that  hear  yet  hear  not, 
eyes  that  see  and  are  blind,'  for  I  find  in 
you  one  who  is  built  fine-grained  enough 
not  to  mistake  silence  for  stupidity,  nor  to 
consider  the  absence  of  an  interrogation 
mark  as  lack  of  sympathy.  The  very  evi- 
dent fadt  that  your  beautiful  companion 
knows  nothing  of  my  sorrow  stamps  you 

71 


BY  THE  WAY 

as  a  splendid  friend,  and  I  want  you  for 
such.  *  *  *  Your  going  has  taken  away 
my  strongest  staff.  You  have  been  bravely 
permitting  me  to  lean  on  you,  too  hard  I 
fear,  these  last  days,  but  you  understand, 
and,  understanding,  forget. 

"  I  should  come  to  you  in  person  to  bid 
you  good-speed,  but  I  should  break  down 
and  perhaps  not  be  able  to  let  you  go,  so 
I  am  sending  instead  this  message.  I  have 
determined  to  be  brave,  to  end  this  deceit, 
to  go  away  from  Rome;  to  begin  aright 
in  some  other  place;   to  live  the  truth." 

I  left  the  eternal  city  with  a  light  and 
happy  heart,  for  my  new  heart's  sister 
(new  if  we  count  by  that  false  estimate  — 
time)  is  free.  I  still  do  not  know  what 
her  given  name  is,  as  all  her  notes  have 
been  signed  with  her  initials,  and  her  sur- 
name does  not  resemble  mine  in  the  least. 

^  ^  ^  w  w  w 

No  wonder  Mrs.  Ward  sent  her  weak- 
est heroine  here  to  hide.  If  you  ever  lose 
me,  arid  suspedt  that  I  am  in  hiding,  hunt 
for  me  in  Orvieto.  I  had  heard  nothing 
of  the  place  until  I  read  "Eleanor,"  but 
now,  if  I  were  a  guide-book,  I'd  put  five 
asterisks  before  it  and  six  in  front  of  its 
cathedral.   You  will  understand  how  I  feel 

78 


ITALY 

about  it  when  I  tell  you  that  most  of 
the  guide-books  never  use  more  than  two 
stars  to  indicate  the  superlative.  Loomis, 
in  his  wildest  flights,  sometimes  uses  three, 
so  I  think  five  would  about  fit  my  estima- 
tion of  the  Orvieto  of  today. 

The  town  is  on  the  top  of  a  mountain, 
up  the  almost  perpendicular  sides  of  which 
it  is  reached  by  a  funicolare. 

SIENA,  ITALIE— SiGNORA  Elvina  Saccaro's,  Pen- 
sion TOGNAZZI,  VIA  SaLLUTIO  BaNDINI   I9. 

T  WISH  I  might  live  here,  on  this  street 
-^  and  in  this  pension^  and  have  it  all  on 
my  visiting-cards,  and  write  it  in  my  best 
style  at  the  top  of  my  letters.  If  it  were 
engraved  on  my  visiting-cards,  and  you 
should  wish  to  come  to  see  me,  you  would 
simply  have  to  say  to  the  cabman,  ^^  See- 
nyee-o-rah  — Al-vee-nyee-ah  —  Sah-chah- 
ro — Pen-see-yo — Tog-natz-zee — Vee-ah — 
Sal-lut-chio  —  Bahn-dee-nee — Dee-chee-ah- 
no-vay^''  but  the  entire  address  does  n't 
include  the  beautiful  cloisters  into  which 
my  windows  open,  for  the  place  is  an  old 
monastery. 

The  first  I  ever  knew  of  Siena  was  from 
one  of  Lilian  Whiting's  books.  She  spoke 
of  Symonds*  history   and    Mrs.  Butler's 

79 


BY  THE  WAY 

"Biography  of  Katherine  of  Siena,"  and 
straightway  I  devoured  them  both.  How 
little  I  thought  then  that  I  should  walk 
the  same  streets  and  kneel  at  the  same 
altar  at  which  that  saint  knelt.  I  like  her 
the  best  of  all  the  saints  "  I  have  met," 
for  she  loved  to  be  alone  and  build  castles. 
Siena  is  a  rival  of  Rome  and  Florence 
in  mediaeval  art  and  architecture.  The 
churches  are  wonderfully  beautiful,  and 
filled  with  the  choicest  works  of  ancient 
and  modern  artists.  The  marble  pave- 
ment and  the  carved  white  marble  pulpit 
in  the  cathedral  cannot  be  equaled. 

FLORENCE: 

'TpHREE  weeks  in  the  art  center  of  the 
-■-  world  and  not  one  letter  written!  The 
note-book,  however,  is  getting  so  fat  that 
it  begs  to  be  put  on  paper  and  sent  away 
to  you.  My  bank  account  is  correspond- 
ingly lean,  made  so  partly  by  the  purchase 
of  pretty  carte-postales  which  carry  the 
telegraphic  messages  across  the  sea,  just  to 
show  that  I'm  thinking  and  that  a  letter 
is  coming  some  fine  day. 

\{ ray  porte-monnaie'^tr^  not  so  tres  mat- 
grey  I'd  buy  many  copies  of  Howell's  "Tus- 
can   Cities,"   Hutton's  "  Literary    Land- 

80 


ITALY 

marks  of  Florence,"  Ruskin's  "  Mornings 
in  Florence,"  Mrs.  Oliphant's  "  Makers 
of  Florence,"  and  Mrs.  Browning's  "The 
Casa  Guidi  Windows,"  and  send  to  each 
of  you  with  this  inscription:  "These  are 
my  sentiments." 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  lazy  delight  that 
we  wandered  about  Siena,  watching  the 
peasant  women  in  their  picturesque  head 
coverings,  inhaling  the  atmosphere  of  me- 
diseval  art  and  the  restfulness  that  comes 
with  it.  In  the  same  leisurely  manner, 
armed  with  numerous  Leghorn  straws,  we 
turned  our  faces  northward,  and  found 
pleasant  rooms  awaiting  us  here. 

Our  windows  look  out  on  the  Arno, 
and  to  the  right  I  see  the  Ponte  Vecchio; 
to  the  left,  a  Bella  vista  which  ends  at 
Fiesole. 

The  new  Florence  is  broad  and  white 
and  glistening;  the  old  is  narrow,  dark  and 
massively  rich. 

The  Arno,  like  the  Tiber,  is  a  yellowish 
green.  Its  eight  bridges  are  unique,  ancient 
and  historic. 

The  Lungarno,  down  which  we  walk 
each  morning,  is  odd  and  fascinating.  It 
has  on  the  Arno  side  a  marble  balustrade; 
on  the  other,  little  shops  displaying  jewels 


BY  THE  WAY 

and  precious  stones  which  would  tempt 
the  soul  of  a  female  angel  Gabriel.  The 
display  of  turquoise,  of  which  stone  Flor- 
ence is  the  home,  is  ravishing,  yet  some- 
times—  once,  I  think  —  we  really  went  by 
without  entering.  The  day  we  did  not  go 
in,  however,  we  went  by  appointment  to 
one  of  the  shops  on  the  Tornabuoni,  where 
were  arrayed  some  gorgeous  ancient  chains 
and  rings  of  scarabs,  the  cartouch  of  which 
proved  them  to  belong  to  some  Egyptian 
potentate. 

The  Piazza  della  Signoria  forms  the 
center  of  Florence.  It  is  surrounded  by 
the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  the  Uffizi,  and  the 
Loggia  dei  Lanzi.  In  the  center  is  the 
fountain  of  Neptune.  It  was  in  this  piazza 
that  Savonarola  was  burned. 

In  the  buildings  just  named,  each  a  mas- 
terpiece of  archite6tural  beauty,  are  found 
many  of  the  chefs-d'ceuvre  of  the  world. 
Florence  overflows  with  so  much  that  is 
ornate,  it  was  difficult  to  make  selections. 
Like  poor  Helen  — 

<*  Were  the  whole  world  mine,  Florence  being  bated, 
I'd  give  it  all  to  be  to  her  translated." 

Sometimes  I  think  if  I  could  have  but 
one    of  these    gems    of  architedure,  I'd 

82 


ITALY 

choose  the  Duomo,  with  its  graceful  fa9ade 
and  its  campanile;  but  when  I  cross  the 
street  to  the  Baptistery  of  San  Giovanni, 
and  gaze  at  its  bronze  doors,  I  change  my 
mind,  and  give  it  first  place. 

Now  it  is  Santa  Croce,  with  its  wondrous 
wealth  of  marbles,  where  Ruskin  —  and 
I  —  spent  many  happy  hours;  but  soon 
Santa  Maria  Novella  has  outshone  them 
all,  until  the  loveliness  of  the  Medicean 
Chapel  wins  my  heart  anew. 

Alas,  so  weak  am  I,  that  all  the  cathe- 
drals sink  into  obscurity  when  the  Uffizi 
Palazzo,  with  its  Tribune,  is  seen.  It  holds 
the  one  perfe6t  woman  —  the  Uffizi  Venus. 
The  Pitti  Palace  and  the  Boboli  Gardens; 
the  Bargello,  with  its  unique  staircase  and 
court;  the  Riccardi  —  in  truth,  all  the 
wealth  of  incomparable  grandeur  of  artistic 
Florence  have  their  places  in  my  affedlions. 

The  wealth,  beauty  and  royalty  of  Flor- 
ence are  seen  on  the  fashionable  driveway. 
The  Cascine  is  to  Florence  what  the  Pincio 
is  to  Rome.  There,  in  the  late  afternoon, 
society  drives  back  and  forth  along  the 
bank  of  the  Arno,  listening  to  the  music 

of  a  military  band. 

*****         * 

It  is  of  little  consequence  how  the  artist 

83 


BY  THE  WAY 

gives  expression  to  his  dream  —  whether 
by  pencil,  pen,  brush,  chisel  or  voice,  in 
marble,  painting,  song  or  story  —  Florence 
is  the  home  of  them  all. 

And  Fiesole,  ah,  Fiesole  by  moonlight! 
I  have  walked  up  the  Fiesolian  Hill,  and 
taken  the  little  eledric  tram,  but  last  night 
I  took  you  with  me  in  a  carriage.  The 
others  did  not  know  you  were  there,  so 
you  and  I  "cuddled  down"  on  the  back 
seat.  You  held  my  hand  and  said  never  a 
word,  but  by  that  same  blessed  silence  I 
knew  you  were  drinking  in  the  beauty  of 
it  all. 

As  the  strong  horses  pulled  up  the 
mountainside,  you  and  I  looked  back  at 
Florence.  She  lay  off  in  the  distant  shad- 
ows, with  the  Arno  at  her  feet — the  Arno, 
no  longer  a  yellow,  muddy  stream,  but  a 
glistening,  silvery  ribbon,  with  the  moon- 
beams dancing  merrily  on  its  phantom- 
like bridges.  The  towers  and  turrets  were 
transformed  into  marble  lace;  the  statues  to 
golden  cupids;  the  chimney-tops  formed 
bas-reliefs ;  and  the  whole,  a  misty  shadow- 
pidlure.  Even  Florence  was  improved  by 
the  witchery  of "  that  old  man  in  the 
moon."  The  silvery  unrealness  of  it  cast 
a  spell  over  us,  making  — 

84 


STAIRWAY    BARGELLO   PALACE,  FLORENCE 


ITALY 

*  *  *  The  longing  heart  yearn  for 
Some  one  to  love,  and  to  be 
Beloved  of  some  one. 

That's  why  I  took  you  with  me. 

When  the  top  was  reached  we  looked 
only  at  the  fairyland  in  the  distance.  It  is 
difficult  to  ideaHze  an  ordinary  little  vil- 
lage, even  if  it  be  Tuscan,  and  this  one 
has  nothing  to  recommend  it  but  a  cathe- 
dral and  some  pifturesque  beggars. 

Returning  another  way,  we  passed  Boc- 
caccio's villa,  and  in  fancy  saw  his  merry 
party  of  lords  and  ladies  seated  in  the 
arbors  looking  out  toward  La  Bella  Fi- 
renza  over  the  now  golden  River  Arno. 

Thus  It  was  I  left  you  in  Florence.  I 
could  not  find  you  when  Ruth  called  out, 
"  Are  you  going  back  with  the  cab,  honey  ? " 


I 


VENICE: 
F  Florence  was  left  behind  in  a  memory 
of  purple  mist,  the  highroad  between 
it  and  Bologna  would  awaken  the  most 
poetic.  The  word  "highroad"  is  a  little 
creation  of  my  own  in  this  connection,  but 
I  feel  sure  you  will  believe  it  to  be  "  high  " 
when  I  tell  you  that  Florence  lies  at  the 
foot  of  the  Apennines  and  Bologna  at  the 
summit;  and  that  the  railway  is,  by  some 

85 


BY  THE  WAY 

miracle  of  engineering,  built  up  through 
and  around  these  mountains.  We  threaded 
forty-five  tunnels,  swung  around  number- 
less viadudts,  crawled  over  heart-stilling 
trestleworks  connecting  one  peak  with  an- 
other, and  finally  came  out  on  top,  much 
dirty  and  more  tired. 

We  arrived  in  Venice  at  12  o'clock, 
midnight,  at  the  full  of  the  moon.  It  can- 
not be  compared  with  my  Florentine 
dream,  for  while  they  are  both  exquisitely 
lovely,  they  are  different.  There  is  nothing 
on  earth  quite  like  Venice  by  moonlight. 

All  things  lose  perspediive  at  close  range, 
or  in  the  glare  of  the  sun's  rays,  and  Ven- 
ice shares  this  disenchantment.  It  matters 
little  what  or  how  much  one  has  read  of 
Venice  —  to  realize  its  charm,  its  color 
scheme  and  its  uniqueness  it  must  be  ex- 
perienced. For  Venice  is  not  a  thing,  it  is 
an  experience. 

We  owned  a  gondola, —  for  a  week.  We 
lived  in  it,  and  I,  sometimes,  slept  in  it 
while  we  were  being  wafted  from  one  place 
to  another. 

There  is  the  usual  —  oh,  no!  there  is 
nothing  usual  in  Venice  —  cathedral,  as  in 
all  cities,  but  St.  Mark's  stands  out  first 
and  forever  as  The  Church  of  all  churches. 

86 


ITALY 

My  first  glimpse  of  this  pile  of  precious 
stones  was  unexpefted  and  most  dramatic 
to  me. 

There  were  no  letters  that  morning,  and 
I  was  just  walking  —  I  did  not  care  where 
or  on  what.  What's  beauty  and  loveliness 
compared  to  One  letter  ?  An  arcade  blocked 
the  way,  and  not  knowing —  not  caring — 
where  it  led,  I  passed  in  and  through  it. 
Chancing  to  look  up,  I  found  myself  in 
the  light  of  day,  and  straight  before  me, 
ablaze  with  the  sunlight  full  on  its  fa9ade, 
was  a  structure  of  lavish  Oriental  magnifi- 
cence. 

"  What  is  that  ? "  I  cried  aloud. 

"  San  Marco ! "  answered  a  number  of 
soft,  musical  voices  in  unison;  and  there 
stood  by  my  side  a  little  crowd  of  Italians, 
their  dark  eyes  sparkling  and  white  teeth 
showing,  evidently  pleased  at  my  adoration. 

"  San  M-ahr-co,  San  M-ahr-co !  "  they 
drawled  in  delight.  For  once  their  pleas- 
ure was  real ;  they  did  not  break  the  spell 
upon  me  by  holding  out  the  hand  for  a 
pourboire. 

St.  Mark's  is  Moorish  in  design,  and 
has  a  coloring  both  gorgeous  and  subdued. 
The  richness  of  jewels  and  costly  stones 
does  not  seem  out  of  place  here  as  in  many 

87 


BY  THE  WAY 

Roman  churches.  Nothing  could  be  too 
precious,  too  sumptuous,  too  rare,  for  this 
temple  magnificent. 

The  piazza  of  St.  Mark's  is  a  square 
paved  with  trachyte  and  marble.  It  has 
the  church  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other 
sides,  old  white  marble  palaces,  in  the 
arcades  of  which  are  now  found  shops  of 
world-wide  renown.  The  piazzetta  leads 
one,  between  the  Doge's  palace  and  Li- 
breria  Vecchia,  to  the  Grand  Canal. 

Every  evening  a  mihtary  band  plays  in 
the  square,  and  it  is  like  a  vast,  open-air 
drawing-room  with  a  huge  masquerade 
ball  in  full  tilt. 

We  climbed  the  Campanile  and  saw,  be- 
sides a  beautiful  sunset,  the  Alps,  the 
Adriatic,  and  in  the  dim  distance  the  Is- 
trian  Mountain  rising  out  of  the  sea. 

With  but  a  day  to  give  to  Venice,  or 
with  a  year  at  your  disposal,  there  is  only 
one  thing  to  do  —  dream!  Whether  you 
rest  in  a  gondola  on  the  Lagune,  drifting 
past  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  the  Rialto,  the 
Ghetto,  or  the  Lido,  listening  to  the  gon- 
dolier calling  out  the  names  of  the  palaces 
as  the  boat  glides  by,  or  whether  you  stroll 
idly  through  the  miles  of  churches  and 
galleries  containing  the  paintings,  or  sit  in 

88 


ITALY 

wondering  awe  before  the  vast  area  of 
mosaics  in  St.  Mark's  —  it  matters  little  — 
dream ! 

In  truth,  one  cannot  well  avoid  it,  amid 
the  "  subtle,  variable,  inexpressible  color- 
ing of  transparent  alabaster,  of  polished 
Oriental  marbles  and  of  lusterless  gold," 
as  Ruskin  puts  it. 

AU  BORD  DU  LAC  COMO: 
TTEAVENS 1  Just  think  of  me  writing 
■*■  -^  "  Como  "  at  the  top  of  my  letters  !  I 
have  pinched  myself  to  see  if  I  am  really 
here.  The  unreality  of  it  all  recalls  what 
Mr.  Howells  said  after  reading  Ruskin: 
"Just  after  reading  his  description  of  St. 
Mark's,  I,  who  had  seen  it  every  day  for 
three  years,  began  to  doubt  its  existence." 
So  I  am  beginning  to  doubt  my  own 
existence. 

The  morning  we  left  Venice  I  was 
nearly  arrested  by  a  man  in  a  cocked  hat, 
all  on  account  of  two  other  men  in  sailor 
hats.  In  short,  I  overstepped  the  etiquette 
of  the  gondolier  most  woefully.  Our  train 
left  at  the  fetching  hour  of  six,  so  I  made 
an  appointment  with  our  trustworthy  Pie- 
tro  to  come  for  us  in  time.  I  think  I  have 
told  you  that  the  word  "haste"  is  an  un- 

89 


BY  THE  WAY 

known  quantity  here,  and  when  Pietro 
was  not  at  the  door  ten  minutes  before  the 
time  to  start,  I  had  the  clerk  call  another 
gondola.  As  we  were  about  to  step  into 
the  boat,  Pietro  was  seen  drifting  idly 
toward  our  hotel. 

He  wasn't  very  indolent  when  he  saw 
what  was  going  on,  and  those  two  "sun- 
sets" (I  think  that  is  my  own,  for  in  a 
sunset,  do  you  not  see  the  day-go  ? )  danced 
several  kinds  of  jigs  up  and  down  and 
sidewise  before  me.  Several  others  came 
to  their  assistance,  among  them  the  afore- 
said cocked-hatted  individual. 

I  told  the  clerk  to  tell  them  that  I 
wished  to  conform  to  the  rules,  and  to 
settle  it  their  way.  A  summer  breeze  could 
not  have  been  calmer  than  all  became  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  but  the  cause  of 
the  calm  was  apparent  when  I  settled  the 
bill.  Their  understanding  of  "settling  it 
their  own  way"  was  to  pay  each  of  them, 
including  the  cocked-hat,  but  that  was 
better  than  languishing  in  a  dungeon  for 
ever  so  little  a  time,  n'est-ce-pas,  mon  cher? 

Since  then  Milan  has  been  visited  — 
Milan,  with  its  mammoth  marble  cathe- 
dral, done  in  Irish-point  pattern  and  with 
a    papier-macM    interior — but    beautiful 

90 


ITALY 

withal.  Several  days  were  spent  at  Me- 
naggio  on  this  lovely  lake;  another  at 
Villa  Carlotta,  where  Canova's  original  and 
divinely  beautiful  marble,  "  Cupid  and 
Psyche,"  stands  in  all  its  purity;  many 
more,  sailing  up  and  down  these  enchant- 
ing waters,  made  green  by  the  reflection  of 
the  forest  on  the  mountains  surrounding, 
and  by  the  grounds  of  the  wealthy  Milan- 
ese, whose  summer  villas  line  its  banks. 

Vineyards  are  scattered  along  the  moun- 
tainside in  terraces,  and  the  brilliant  green 
of  the  chestnut  and  walnut  trees  is  blended 
with  the  dull  grayish  green  of  the  olive 

and  laurel. 

****** 

Lake  Lugano  and  Lake  Maggiore  are 
beautiful  sheets  of  water,  but  they  lack  the 
romantic  atmosphere  of  Como.  I  can  re- 
call no  other  description  so  pleasing  to  the 
heart  as  well  as  to  the  fancy  as  the  eulogy 
to  these  lakes  in  Mrs.  Ward's  "  Lady 
Rose's  Daughter." 

DOMODOSSOLA: 

RURAL  Italy,  to  be  appreciated,  must  be 
seen  by  tram,  by  boat,  by  steam,  by 
old-fashioned  diligence,  and  on  foot.  Its 
lakes  and  mountains,  its  valleys  and  vine- 

91 


BY  THE  WAY 

yards,  have  been  a  source  of  continual  sur- 
prise to  me,  and  it  is  with  a  feeling  of 
keenest  regret  that  our  last  place  in  Italy 
is  reached.  I  feel  with  Browning  as  I  say 
farewell  to  — 

*•  Italy,  my  Italy  ! 

***** 

Open  my  heart  and  you  will  «ce 
Graven  inside  of  it,  'Italy*.'* 


92 


SWITZERLAND 


Fair  S'witxerland,  thou  art  my  theme, 
Thy  praise  by  day,  by  night  my  dream. 
My  sivelling  heart  ivith  rapture  speaks; 
I  lo've  thy  lakes  and  snoiv-capped  peaks. 
Thy  -wooded  glens  my  thought  recalls^ 
Thy  mountain  paths  and  ivaterfalls. 
JVith  praises  I  my  'verse  adorn 
Of  yungfrau  and  the  Matterhorn. 
Thy  moon-lit  nights  and  sun-lit  dayt^ 
For  thee  in  song,  my  "voice  I  raise. 
Thy  name  for  right  and  freedom  stand — 
/  love  thee,  dear  old  Switzerland. 

Roland  Phelps  Marks. 


LUCERNE: 
/\  H,  Kate  !  dear  old  friend  of  my  child- 
■^^  hood!  How  little  I  thought  that  night 
in  June,  when  you  stood  up  and  told  the 
audience,  "  Beyond  the  Alps  lies  Italy," 
that  some  day  those  same  Alps  would  lie 
between  us.  We  have  not  only  been  "  be- 
yond," but  over  them. 

^  ^  ^  46*  ^  TV 

The  soft  pink  glow  of  the  early  dawn 
hung  over  the  village  of  Domodossola  as 
the  start  was  made  for  Switzerland. 

Our  caravan  consisted  of  four  diligences, 
two  luggage  vans,  and  a  mounted  guide, 

93 


BY  THE  WAY 

who  knew  every  inch  of  the  pass.  He 
galloped  from  coach  to  coach,  hurling  his 
instruftions  to  occupants  and  drivers. 

Above  the  blowing  of  horns,  the  ringing 
of  bells,  and  the  answering  shouts  from 
the  coaches,  this  guide's  last  command  rang 
out  loud  and  clear:  "  Keep  close  together! 
Follow  me!   Come!" 

It  was  all  as  uncertain  as  life  itself.  How 
blindly  and  with  what  enthusiasm  we  enter 
the  race,  knowing  nothing  of  what  the  day 
may  bring! 

The  creaking  diligences  started  away 
with  their  freight  of  human  souls,  to  fol- 
low—  follow  to  what?    God  only  knows. 

Again,  as  in  life  —  up  and  up,  on  and 
on,  higher  and  higher  —  until  the  summit 
is  reached  at  noon-day,  and  as  the  shadows 
lengthened  in  the  waning  of  the  day,  we 
began  the  descent. 

That  morning  as  the  purple  village  was 
left  behind,  the  road  grew  narrow  and 
clung  close  to  the  mountainside.  So  close 
it  was,  did  we  but  stretch  the  hand  ever  so 
little,  we  would  touch  its  ruggedness. 
Sometimes  the  road  widened  into  a  moun- 
tain village,  but  ever  and  always  on  the 
other  side  was  the  deep,  dark  abyss.  It 
varied   in   depth    and    blackness,  or  was 

94 


SWITZERLAND 

filled  with  some  mountain  torrent,  but  the 
gloom  was  always  there. 

The  mountains  themselves  often  smiled 
down  on  us,  or  laughed  outright,  as  some 
sparkling,  bubbling  cascade  could  no  longer 
keep  within  the  channel  time  had  worn 
for  it  in  the  rocky  slope;  yet  the  same 
rippling  waterfall  that  had  danced  right 
merrily  down  from  its  snowy  source,  be- 
came stern  and  cruel  after  it  had  crossed 
the  road  under  us  and  joined  the  somber- 
ness  of  the  cavern. 

If  the  glare  of  the  sun  partially  dispelled 
the  glamour  the  moon  had  cast  over  Ven- 
ice, how  vastly  more  does  close  proximity 
to  the  Alpine  village  of  song  and  story 
dissipate  its  charm.  As  every  gleam  of 
sunshine  must  cast  a  shadow  somewhere, 
so  the  splendor  of  the  Alps  must  needs 
be  balanced  by  the  materiality  of  its  in- 
habitants. 

Of  the  forty  miles  from  Domodossola, 
Italy,  to  Brigue,  Switzerland,  the  first  ten 
perhaps  are  inhabited.  These  people  live 
on  the  road,  their  huts  snuggling  close  to 
the  mountain.  The  little  patches  of  ground 
that  are  tilled  lie  straight  up  the  moun- 
tainside, and  upon  these  sides,  too,  their 
sheep  graze.    One  of  the  witcheries  of  the 

95 


BY  THE  WAY      . 

region  is  the  tinkling  of  the  tiny  bells  tied 
around  the  necks  of  the  sheep. 

Before  reaching  Iselle,  where  the  Cus- 
toms are  paid,  the  longest  of  the  Simplon 
tunnels  is  passed  through,  and  a  block  of 
granite  marks  the  boundary  line  between 
the  two  countries. 

Along  the  route  the  drivers  had  often 
to  call  out,  that  the  women  and  children 
might  make  way  for  the  coaches.  The  chil- 
dren, offering  fruit  or  flowers,  would  run 
along  with  the  vehicles  and  call  out  the 
little  English  that  had  been  picked  up: 
"Good-a-bye!"  "Kiss-a-me!"  "Hur-rah- 
up  1 "  But  the  smiles  soon  turned  to  tears 
if  no  pennies  were  thrown  to  them. 

Sometimes  in  the  distance  there  seemed 
to  be  a  mammoth  pile  of  rock  or  debris 
obstructing  the  roadway,  which,  on  being 
approached,  was  found  to  be  part  of  an 
avalanche  tunneled  out  for  the  passageway. 
These  are  termed  "galleries"  to  distinguish 
them  from  the  usual  tunnels. 

Away  up  on  a  high  point  is  an  old 
hospice  which  can  be  reached  only  by  pe- 
destrians,—  a  refuge  for  the  mountain 
climbers. 

Far  up  among  the  clouds  is  a  bridge 
resembling  a  tiny  toy.    Long  hours  after- 

96 


SWITZERLAND 

wards,  when  the  summit  of  the  peak  is 
reached,  and  when  the  road  seems  to  end 
abruptly,  the  bridge  comes  into  view  again 
spanning  some  yawning  gulf. 

Once  while  crossing  from  one  peak  to 
another,  the  gorge  below  seemed  filled 
with  white  smoke.  It  was  the  clouds.  Some 
thousands  of  feet  below,  these  same  clouds 
had  been  above  us  —  we  were  now  above 
them. 

The  sensation  was  awful.  "  Look ! 
Look ! "  cried  the  guide,  pointing  down 
into  the  moraine.  The  clouds  had  sepa- 
rated, and  the  rain  could  be  seen  pouring 
on  a  little  village  far  below,  while  the  sun 
shone  bright  on  us. 

The  sunshine  is  not  warm  among  these 
snow-clad  peaks.  It  was  bitterly  cold.  The 
crunching  of  the  snow  under  the  iron  hoofs 
of  the  horses  was  the  only  sound  to  be 
heard. 

At  the  village  of  Simplon  where  lunch- 
eon was  served,  and  where  the  horses  were 
changed,  the  luggage  vans  were  raided  for 
warm  wraps  and  rugs. 

Half  a  mile  from  the  village  of  Simplon 
the  remains  of  a  big  avalanche  were  en- 
countered. Men  were  at  work  clearing 
the  roadway,  and  the  guide  ordered  every 

97 


BY  THE  WAY 

one  to  dismount  and  walk  across,  the 
drivers  leading  the  horses. 

When  "  the  road  grew  wider,"  it  should 
not  make  a  mental  pidure  of  a  broad 
roadway.  It  is  wide  only  in  comparison 
with  the  narrow  mountain  pass,  cut  out  of 
the  side  of  the  cliff,  making  a  sort  of  ridge 
of  sufficient  width  to  permit  but  one  vehi- 
cle at  a  time.  There  are  places  cut  deeper 
into  the  rock  so  that  two  may  pass.  A 
stone  parapet  runs  along  the  ledge  next  to 
the  precipice  to  prevent  accidents  should 
the  wheels  come  too  near  the  edge. 

At  the  highest  point  this  parapet  was 
broken.  The  workmen  who  were  repair- 
ing the  wall  had  been  called  to  assist  in 
clearing  the  lower  road  of  the  avalanche 
over  which  we  had  been  obhged  to  walk. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  one  of  our 
horses  balked.  The  road,  so  narrow  that 
it  scarcely  permitted  the  passage  of  the 
diligence, —  the  parapet  entirely  gone  for 
a  distance  of  many  feet — the  gorge,  deep 
and  black,  with  a  roaring  torrent,  too  far 
down  to  be  seen  —  the  very  heavens  weep- 
ing at  our  misery, —  here  it  was  the  horse 
chose  to  become  unmanageable. 

The  two  in  the  box  seat  behind  the 
driver  did  not  realize  what  was  happening 

98 


SWITZERLAND 

until  a  shriek  from  some  one  in  the  body 
of  the  coach  caused  the  entire  party  to 
turn.  The  driver  yelled,  "Jump !  Jump 
toward  the  mountainside!" 

God  grant  that  rarely  on  human  sight 
may  dawn  such  a  scene,  horrible  only  to 
those  who  had  occupied  the  coach  a  second 
before.  The  back  wheels  were  over  that 
fearful  ledge,  the  diligence  just  tottering. 
One  moment  more,  made  heavy  by  its 
human  load,  one  quiver  of  the  now  terri- 
fied beasts,  and  the  whole  would  have  been 
engulfed  in  the  depths  of  that  seething 
torrent. 

We  had  jumped  at  the  first  word  of 
command — jumped  as  one  body.  One 
second  and  it  would  have  been  too  late. 
And  the  old  coach,  relieved  of  its  burden, 
had  balanced  itself  in  an  almost  human 
manner,  as  if  it,  too,  clung  to  life. 

We  stood  crouching  away  from  the 
gorge  against  the  wet  side  of  the  rock,  the 
driver  unnerved,  one  horse  unruly  and  the 
leader  balky.  The  entire  cavalcade  had 
begun  the  descent,  and  there  was  no  stop- 
ping when  once  under  way  until  a  valley 
was  reached  some  seven  miles  below.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  wait,  and  pray  that 
the  guide  would  miss  us  and  send  help. 

99 


BY  THE  WAY 

The  awesomeness  of  that  scene  had  time 
to  imprint  itself  on  my  very  soul,  for  the 
hours  spent  on  that  Alpine  peak  I  count 
as  the  most  stirring  jy^'^r^  of  my  life. 

Help  came,  or  I  should  not  be  writing 
this.  But,  grateful  and  overjoyed  as  we 
were  to  see  a  fresh  horse  and  two  men  on 
its  back  coming  to  our  aid,  the  result  was 
even  more  terrifying  than  the  past  experi- 
ence. 

The  guide  had  missed  us  when,  as  was 
his  wont,  at  the  first  stop,  he  galloped  back 
from  coach  to  coach.  Fortunately  it  was 
near  2.  hospice^  where  he  procured  two  men 
and  a  powerful  horse,  and  sent  them  after 
us.    Surely  God  had  — 

**  One  arm  'round  thee. 
And  one  'round  me. 
To  keep  us  near." 

The  driver  and  his  helper  had  hardly 
dismounted  from  the  back  of  the  new  horse 
when  the  wild  creature  reared  around,  and 
started  on  a  mad  gallop  down  the  slope. 
He  tripped,  thank  heavens,  on  a  strap 
that  had  become  loosened  from  his  trap- 
pings, and  was  caught. 

That  the  new  driver  was  a  fiend  was 
apparent  from  the  cruel  manner  in  which 

100 


SWITZERLAND 

he  treated  the  runaway.  I  am  still  uncer- 
tain what  his  excuse  was  for  living.  He 
was  so  hideous  he  was  unique.  After  he 
had  pounded  the  horses  he  turned  his 
attention  to  the  passengers. 

Ruth  and  I  were  ordered  out  of  the  box 
seat  into  the  coach.  It  was  impossible  to 
crowd  us  all  inside,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
submit  to  our  remaining  above.  The  hood 
was  closed,  the  boot  drawn  up,  and  we  were 
strapped  securely  to  our  seats.  The  doors 
were  locked  on  those  inside.  These  were 
his  instrudions  from  the  guide. 

The  three  drivers  mounted  in  front  of 
us,  and,  while  we  were  thankful  to  be  in 
the  open  air  and  to  be  able  to  view  the 
wonderful  scenery  around  us,  we  were  also 
compelled  to  witness  the  inhuman  treat- 
ment of  the  animals. 

In  this  manner  we  began  the  descent. 

The  fiend  had  the  reins  and  the  long 
whip,  the  others  had  prods,  and  used  them 
on  the  horses.  The  fresh  horse  took  the 
lead,  dragging  the  others  after  him.  On, 
and  on,  and  on  we  flew,  now  under  wild- 
roaring  catarads,  whose  waters  thundered 
down  on  the  rocky  roof  of  the  tunnels 
under  them — now  over  frail  bridges,  which 
trembled  with  our  speed  —  now  down  slip- 

lOI 


BY  THE  WAY 

pery,  ice-covered  stretches.  They  did  not 
stop  at  the  first  plateau,  fearing,  I  suppose, 
they  would  never  get  the  horses  started 
again. 

The  fiendish  shouts  of  the  drivers,  the 
cries  of  the  occupants  locked  inside  the 
coach,  the  swaying  and  groaning  of  the  old 
diligence,  and  the  almost  human  moans  of 
the  horses  blended  with  the  warning  cries 
of  the  natives,  who  stood  aside,  aghast  at 
our  mad  speed. 

Down,  down,  down!  The  white  peaks 
grow  fainter  and  fainter,  until  they  are  lost 
in  the  blue  mist.  The  incline  becomes  less 
steep.  The  little  farms  look  like  window- 
panes  set  up  in  air,  and  the  sun  sinks  be- 
hind the  purple  mountains.  The  beautiful 
valley  of  the  Rhone  spreads  out  below, 
like  a  celestial  vision. 

Suddenly,  after  a  long  curve  has  been 
rounded,  the  Rhone,  bathed  in  a  flood  of 
golden  fire,  comes  into  view.  Across  the 
yawning  gulf  the  mountains,  on  the  other 
side,  take  on  the  same  glorious  hue. 

It  is  the  Alpine  glow! 

Yet  on  and  down  we  go,  never  stopping 
the  wild  pace  until  the  horses  dash  into 
the  courtyard  of  the  inn  at  Brigue! 

We  had  crossed  the  Alps  1 

I02 


SWITZERLAND 

We  were  in  Switzerland ! 

*         *         ^         *         *  «• 

Switzerland  is  one  of  the  places  whose 
charm  is  enhanced  by  the  glare  of  the  sun. 
But  Switzerland  does  not  have  many  op- 
portunities to  endure  glare  of  anything,  for 
it  rains  almost  continually.  The  "weeping 
skies  of  Ireland"  cannot  compare  with  it. 

Lake  Geneva,  as  it  winds  around  Lau- 
sanne, is  extremely  pretty,  and  Lake  Lu- 
cerne has  quite  the  most  picturesque 
surroundings  possible.  It  nestles  down 
among  the  Alps,  with  Rigi  on  one  side 
and  the  beautiful  town  on  the  other.  And 
Lucerne  is  a  beautiful  town,  built  in  a 
curve  in  the  Alps,  with  towers  and  battle- 
ments on  its  walls.  Sailing  away  from  it, 
it  presents  a  pidure  altogether  different 
from  anything  else  I  have  seen. 

It  took  some  days  for  me  to  recover 
from  that  mad  ride  down  the  mountains. 
After  the  effeds  of  it  had  passed,  I  could 
but  think  how  very  near  the  ludicrous  is 
the  sublime. 

Death  by  climbing  up  or  falling  down 
these  Alpine  heights  would  be,  perhaps, 
romantic ;  but  to  be  backed  over  a  preci- 
pice by  a  common  balky  horse  could  not 
be  otherwise  than  ignominious. 

103 


BY  THE  WAY 

Now,  too,  I  recall  some  of  those  sense- 
less questions  women  ask.  One  woman 
cried,  "Oh,  where  will  we  go  if  that  har- 
ness breaks  ? " 

"We  will  go  right  on  from  the  heights 
to  which  our  thoughts  have  risen,"  an- 
swered a  beautiful  voice  from  within  the 
diligence.  It  was  Mrs.  F.'s  friend,  she  who 
had  first  told  her  how  foolish  it  was  to 
live  a  lie.  Now  I  know  why  the  old  coach 
had  kept  up. 


104 


HOLLAND 
AND  BELGIUM 

Holland  and  Belgium 

Are  countries  quite  funny  ; 
Their  Art  is  a  joy, 

But  a  bete  noire  their  money. 

AMSTERDAM: 

I  HAVE  adhially  found  some  places  that  I 
do  not  like,  and  it  is  well,  for  I  have 
used  up  all  my  adjediives  and  exclama- 
tions. I  did  not  care  for  Zurich,  and  many 
of  the  Rhine  towns  found  no  favor  in  my 
eyes.  I  saw  most  of  them  only  from  the 
river  about  which  we  have  heard  so  much 
that,  naturally,  it  failed  in  the  realization 
of  my  anticipations, —  besides,  it  rained 
much  of  the  time. 

I  overheard  a  conversation  between  two 
American  girls  on  the  boat  up — or  down  — 
the  Rhine.  Every  time  I  say  "up"  the 
other  person  says,  "  Down,  wasn't  it?" 
and  when  I  change  it  to  "down,"  I  am 
asked,  "  Up,  was  n't  it  ? " 

The  first  girl  was  saying,  in  a  strenuous 
manner,"!  sawEVERYchurchinRome!" 

105 


BY  THE  WAY 


Ah,  indeed!  How  long  a  time  did  you 
spend  in  Rome?  You  know,  do  you  not, 
that  there  are  over  four  hundred  churches 
there  ? "  sarcastically  asked  the  other. 

"  Four  hundred !  "  shouted  the  first  girl, 
never  noticing  the  sarcasm, "  four  hundred ! 
I'll  bet  I  tramped  through  a  thousand!" 

I  can  sympathize  with  that  first  girl. 

The  cathedral  at  Cologne  is  very  fine. 
It  is  built  in  two  distind;  styles  of  archi- 
tecture. The  legend  runs  that  the  first 
architedl  sold  his  soul  to  the  devil  for 
plans  unlike  any  other  church  in  the  world. 
When  he  had  it  half  finished  he  disap- 
peared, and  the  plans  with  him. 

I  suppose  he  and  the  devil  became  too 
well  acquainted  with  each  other,  and  per- 
haps he  ran  in  to  see  him  every  day  — 
which  is  enough  to  tire  even  the  devil  him- 
self—  so  he  put  the  architedt  out  of  the 
way.  Be  that  the  case  or  not,  the  church 
was  commenced  in  1248,  and  finished  only 
recently  in  a  modern  fashion. 

What  a  difference  it  makes  to  have  a 
friend  residing  in  a  foreign  city!  I  posted 
a  letter  to  Marie  from  Cologne,  and  as  I 
was  breakfasting  the  morning  of  my  ar- 
rival here  her  visiting-card  was  brought  to 

106 


HOLLAND  AND  BELGIUM 

me.  She  has  made  our  stay  in  this  quaint 
city  a  bright  green  spot  in  the  oasis  of 
hotel  Hfe  and  hustling  for  oneself. 

She  has  driven  us  over  this  picturesque 
old  town  and  taken  us  to  the  palaces,  and 
to  the  Royal  Rijks  Museum.  We  have 
walked  with  her  through  her  favorite 
haunts  in  the  parks.  She  has  made  a  mar- 
tyr of  herself  and  shown  us  through  the 
shops, —  and  have  you  ever  heard  of  the 
lovely  shops  of  Amsterdam  ?  But,  best  of 
all,  we  have  had  a  bit  of  home  life,  and 
Marie,  bless  her  heart!  has  given  us  the 
first  cup  of  real  coffee  we  have  had  since 
we  left  home. 

45r  4Sr  4^  ^  w  w 

I  cannot  tell  you  much  in  detail  about 
the  splendid  school  of  art  here,  for  —  let 
me  whisper  it  to  you  —  I  did  not  get  a 
guide-book  of  Holland.  Marie  and  her 
good  husband  left  little  for  us  to  glean. 
But  this  I  do  know,  that,  in  all  our  travels, 
no  more  comprehensive  and  beautiful  col- 
ledion  of  art  treasures  have  we  found. 

The  building  itself  is  magnificent,  and 
the  masterpieces  are  all  Flemish.  Rubens' 
"Helena  Fourment,"  Rembrandt's  "The 
Night  Watch,"  and  a  portrait  by  Van 
Dyke  are  among  those  which  I  recall. 

107 


BY  THE  WAY 

Holland  is  a  quaintly  picturesque  coun- 
try. Everything  that  Mr.  F.  Hopkinson 
Smith,  that  exquisite  word-etcher  as  well 
as  painter,  has  said  of  it  is  true. 

But  the  language !  And  the  money !  Oh, 
the  money  is  impossible. 

Now,  I  call  Ruth  a  brilliant  woman, 
and  one  vastly  above  the  average  intelleft- 
ually ;  and  you  know  that,  while  I'm  not 
an  expert  accountant,  I  can  do  "sums" 
once  in  a  while.  Well,  neither  of  us  has 
learned  to  pronounce,  nor  do  we  yet  know, 
the  value  of  the  thing  which  takes  the  place 
of  t\\Q  franc.  It  is  spelled  g-u-l-d-e-n  — 
most  Americans  call  it  gilder^  but  it  is  no 
more  like  that  than  it  is  like  "horse."  In 
fad,  it  is  not  unlike  the  last  word,  when  a 
native  gets  his  tongue  around  it. 

As  to  its  value  !  I  have  taken  goods  for 
it  to  the  value  of  a  penny  and  of  a  half- 
dollar.  I  simply  take  the  change  given  me 
and  go.  The  other,  like  Thoreau's  friend, 
has  both  the  first  word  and  the  last.  How 
awful !  A  woman  can  never  talk  back  in 
this  language. 

BRUSSELS : 

T?LBERT  Hubbard  tells,  in  one  of  his 

^  "  Little  Journeys,"  how,  when  his  ship 

io8 


HOLLAND  AND  BELGIUM 

landed  in  Antwerp  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  he  walked  to  the  hotel  and  awak- 
ened the  landlord  from  his  early  morning 
nap  in  order  to  get  some  breakfast.  I  can- 
not speak  from  experience  as  to  what  hour 
they  arise,  but  I  do  know,  from  very  close 
association  with  the  people,  that  they  do 
not  know  what  sort  of  money  they  use. 

At  the  door  of  the  cathedral,  where  we 
went  to  see  Rubens'  chef-d' ceuvre,  "The 
Descent  from  the  Cross,"  the  woman  at 
the  door  refused  to  take  one  of  those  coins 
of  which  I  do  not  know  the  value;  but 
when  I  tried  a  little  dramatic  adion,  and 
turned  to  go,  she  took  it  very  readily,  and 
permitted  us  to  enter.  The  same  scene 
was  enaded  at  the  door  of  the  really  ex- 
quisite museum;  but  it  did  not  work  at 
the  station. 

We  were  using  all  our  Belgian  coins  be- 
fore going  into  France,  and  had  saved 
enough  for  the  porters  at  the  station  where 
we  had  left  our  hand  luggage.  The  porter 
who  brought  our  luggage  from  the  train 
into  the  station  had  accepted  the  coin  we 
gave  him.  The  one  we  secured  to  carry 
them  out  to  the  train  had  reached  our 
compartment,  and  demanded  his  money. 

I  counted  out  the  coins.    He  refused 

109 


BY  THE  WAY 

them.  We  had  no  other  money.  I  ten- 
dered him  a  book,  and  finally  my  watch. 
He  still  refused,  and  would  not  permit  us 
to  put  the  things  in  the  compartment. 
There  was  no  woman  in  sight,  and  foreign 
men  are  so  different  from  our  countrymen 
that  we  could  not  bring  ourselves  to  ask 
aid  from  them ;  besides,  we  did  not  speak 
Flemish. 

It  was  absolutely  necessary  for  us  to 
reach  Brussels  that  night,  and  had  we  gone 
back  to  get  the  money  changed,  it  would 
have  necessitated  our  remaining  over  Sun- 
day in  Antwerp,  where  we  had  exhausted 
everything  of  interest.  We  were  becoming 
desperate,  when  good  fortune  smiled  on  us 
in  the  form  of  a  pair  of  girlish  black  eyes. 

I  asked  her  if  she  spoke  English.  She 
shook  her  head. 

^''Parlex  vous  -Fr<3«f^/j.''"  and,  oh,  joy, 
*^Mais  un  peu,"  she  replied. 

I  made  known  our  dilemma,  and  she 
very  sweetly  settled  with  the  fa^eur  for 
about  half  the  amount  he  had  demanded 
of  me. 

Who  shall  say  there  is  not  a  free  ma- 
sonry among  women  ?  There,  in  a  strange 
country,  with  not  a  cent  of  that  country's 
coinage  in  my  pocket,  knowing  no  word 

I  lo 


HOLLAND  AND  BELGIUM 

of  its  language,  came  to  my  assistance  a 
woman  of  yet  another  country,  speaking 
nor  understanding  no  word  of  my  mother 
tongue,  and,  in  yet  another  language,  which 
we  both  spoke  indifferently,  I  asked  and 
she  gave  aid  with  that  same  grave  poHte- 
ness  which  marks  the  noblesse  oblige  every- 
where. 

The  next  morning,  dressed  in  our  brav- 
est, we  had  the  concierge  call  the  shiniest 
cab  he  could  find,  with  the  tallest-hatted 
cocher,  and  with  the  loveliest  basket  of 
roses  that  could  be  procured,  we  drove  in 
state  to  the  address  she  had  given  us.  We 
had  a  cordial  greeting,  but  somehow  I 
fancy  she  had  been  in  doubt  as  to  whether 
or  not  she  would  ever  see  those  h^  francs 
again. 

You  may  rest  assured  that  we  have  had 
sufficient  money  changed  here,  and  that 
we  have  found  numerous  ways  in  which 
to  spend  it.  Next  to  Venice,  the  lace  shops 
are  the  finest  in  the  world. 


Ill 


Part  II. 


The  sea  !  the  sea  !  the  open  sea  ! 

The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever-free! 

Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound. 

It  runneth  the  earth 's  wide  regions  round ; 

It  flays  with  the  clouds,  it  mocks  the  skies. 

Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies. 

I  never  was  on  the  dull,  tame  shore. 
But  I  loved  the  great  sea  more  and  more  ; 
And  backward  flew  to  her  billowy  breast. 
Like  a  bird  that  seeketh  its  mother'' s  nest. 
Barky  Cornwall. 


GREECE 

Ccme,  come  •with  me  to  the  Isles  »f  Gretcty 
jind  on  o'er  the  seas  to  its  golden  shore ^ 
Pause  not  till  you  reach  j4thenia'  s  Cretan, 
Then  mount  to  its  hea'ven-domed  Parthenon. 
Its  glories  loill  feed  your  musing  hours, 
JV hen  fame  has  divindled  to  cheap  renown. 

Tt  is  a  far  cry  from  the  Bowery  to  the 
"■■  Bosporus,  but  only  a  few  obstacles,  such 
as  the  Atlantic,  the  Mediterranean,  the 
Adriatic  and  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  inter- 
vene. We  had  overcome  two  of  these  so 
that  it  was  from  Brindisi,  Italy,  the  end  of 
the  Appian  Way,  that  we  embarked  for 
Greece. 

I  expefted  to  find  tall,  willowy  maidens 
in  Grecian  draperies  standing  on  the  banks 
of  Corfu  waving  golden  lyres  to  welcome 
me  to  these  fair  Ionian  Islands,  with  mighty 
warriors  back  of  them  proclaiming  of  their 
ancestors;  instead,  I  found  a  pretty  little 
island  covered  with  blossoms,  in  the  midst 
of  which  is  the  magnificent  Villa  Achilleion 
eredled  for  Empress  Elizabeth  of  Austria. 

One  would  never  dream  that  the  lazy 
sailors  found  along  the  shores  of  this  hilly 


BY  THE  WAY 

isle  were  descendants  of  those  old  Greeks 
who  fought  the  first  naval  battle  2600 
years  ago,  off  its  coast. 

One  must  be  a  good  pedestrian,  for  even 
with  the  excellent  roads  it  is  necessary  to 
climb  on  foot  to  the  lookout  if  one  would 
have  a  survey  of  the  island  and  its  sur- 
roundings. I  reached  it  just  in  time  to  see 
the  sun  sink,  all  gold  and  orange,  into  the 
green  liquid  of  the  Adriatic. 

If  Corfu  gives  one  a  flowery  welcome  to 
the  Isles  of  Greece,  the  mainland  keeps  up 
the  cordiality.  Patras,  its  first  port,  a  dig- 
nified, progressive  little  city,  was  not  be- 
hind its  island  sister  in  greeting  us.  Its 
historic  neighbor,  Olympia,  is  reached  by 
a  bridle  path,  and  the  two  days'  journey 
will  give  one  a  better  insight  into  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  the  ancient  Greeks 
than  months  spent  in  a  modern  city. 
Many  of  the  inhabitants  along  this  path 
have  never  visited  their  nearest  village. 

The  road  between  Patras  and  Athens  — 
my  heart  throbs  now  at  the  mere  writing 
of  the  name  "Athens,"  just  as  it  did 
when  I  first  took  my  seat  in  the  train  for 
that  classic  city  —  is  different  from  any- 
thing else  on  earth,  for  almost  all  the  way 
to  the  ship  canal  which  crosses  the  Isth- 

116 


n  o  T)  '••'     w 


I 


GREECE 

mus  of  Corinth  the  mountainsides  arc 
strewn  with  currants,  drying  in  the  sun  on 
beds  of  white  pebbles.  All  the  dried  cur- 
rants, originally  called  "  grape  of  Corinth," 
come  from  this  part  of  the  Levant. 

ATHENS : 

Full  many  a  bard  of  thy  strong  walls  has  sung. 
Full  many  a  hand  has  sketched  thy  fair  outline; 

But  none  can  sing  nor  paint  all  that  thou  art. 
To  earnest,  loving,  simple  hearts  like  mine. 

FEEL  now  as  though  the  scratching  of 

my  pen  were  sacrilege,  just  as  I  first  tread 
softly  on  this  sacred  soil  and  would  start 
when  I  heard  some  one  laugh  aloud.  I 
cannot  tell  you  of  the  deep  impression 
Athens  has  made  upon  me. 

If  you  were  here  where  I  could  touch 
your  hand  and,  without  one  word  being 
spoken,  we  could  stand  and  drink  in  all 
its  grandeur,  or  sit  in  silence  by  moonlight 
watching  the  shadows  come  and  go,  you 
would  understand — -but  to  put  Athens  in 
cold  black  and  white,  ah,  never  ask  me  to 
try. 

The  new  Athens,  like  Florence,  is  broad 
and  white,  but  not  glistening.  The  old 
Athens  —  my  Athens  —  lies  yonder  on  the 
hill,  a  mass  of  monstrous  rocks,  gigantic 

117 


BY  THE  WAY 

pillars  and  huge  squares  of  stone  which 
some  mighty  tempest  or  some  avalanche 
seems  to  have  scattered  hither  and  yon. 
It  was  by  the  light  of  the  moon  that 
the  vastness  of  the  Acropolis  impressed 
itself  upon  me,  though  the  immensity  of 
purpose  —  the  Herculean  obstacles  sur- 
mounted—  rather  than  its  ponderous  pro- 
portions, creates  its  magnitude.  But  it  was 
just  as  the  day  was  dawning  that  its  love- 
liness appeared  to  me. 

I  have  been  to  the  Acropolis  with  a 
registered  cicerone  who  knew  every  stone 
of  it,  and  again  with  a  fine  young  Greek 
who  loved  every  atom  of  it,  but  today  at 
dawn  I  stood  there  alone  and  watched  the 
sun  come  up  seemingly  from  beneath  my 
feet.  No  sound  broke  the  stillness.  All 
nature  was  hushed  that  I  might  bid  my 
beloved  Athens  farewell.  There  she  lay 
outspread  before  me,  bathed  in  the  first 
faint  glow  of  the  early  dawn.  Far  down  is 
the  Porte  Beule  and  the  marble  staircase 
from  it  to  the  Propylsea,  one  of  whose 
courts  leads  to  that  diminutive  jewel,  the 
Temple  of  Nike,  with  its  Pentelic  marble 
grown  yellow  with  age. 

Before  the  sun  had  climbed  above  the 
mountain,  I  watched  the  purple  marble  of 

ii8 


THE  ACROPOLIS  AS  IT  WAS 

THE  ACROPOLIS  AS  IT  IS 

THE  TEMPLE  OF   THESEUS  IN   FOREGROUND 


GREECE 

the  Erechtheion  turn  to  gold,  giving  a 
rosy  glow  of  youth  to  the  Maidens  of  the 
Caryatides  portico  who  have  held  up  their 
canopy  for  two  thousand  years.  Always 
before  the  eye,  tall  and  commanding,  in  all 
its  perfedion,  stands  the  Parthenon.  Off 
yonder  is  Mars  Hill,  and  far  beyond,  the 
Temple  of  Theseus,  its  weather-stained, 
golden-hued  marbles,  that  have  braved  the 
storms  of  centuries,  exhaling  a  vigorous 
vitality. 

As  the  sun  climbed  over  the  hilltop  my 
heart  grew  heavy  at  the  thought  of  part- 
ing with  Athens.  In  a  few  hours  I  would 
be  leaving  her,  perhaps  forever.  But  Ath- 
ens— Athens  over  whom  I  wept —  slept  on. 
****** 

I  came  back  to  earth  and  went  to  Pi- 
raeus in  a  very  "earthy"  eledric  tram  — 
think  of  desecrating  Athens  with  a  trolley ! 


119 


TURKEY 

The  cloud-caff'  d  towers, 
The  gorgeous  falaces. 
The  solemn  temfles. 

Shakspere,  The  Temfest, 
Act  IV,  Scene  I,  Line  ISJ. 

CONSTANTINOPLE : 

TOURING  the  early  hours  of  yesterday 
-*-'  morning  we  reached  Smyrna,  one  of 
the  seven  cities  spoken  of  in  the  Book  of 
Revelation,  and  we  spent  the  day  in  its 
odd,  underground  bazaars.  Wildness,  mad- 
ness and  fiendishness  have  lost  their  ter- 
rors for  me  since  landing  at  Smyrna. 

Imagine  all  the  wild  animals  of  the  zoo 
put  together  in  one  cage  and  all  roaring 
at  the  same  time  and  you  will  have  some 
idea  of  the  sound  that  greeted  my  ears  as 
our  ship  dropped  anchor.  Then  look  over 
the  rail  and,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  pic- 
ture rowboats  by  the  hundreds,  so  thickly 
crammed  together  that  scarcely  a  bit  of 
the  water  can  be  seen.  Watch  the  oars- 
man pushing  another  boat  or  beating  his 
brother  boatman  over  the  head  with  his 
oar,  each  of  them  yelling  at  the  top  of  his 

I  20 


«?  ^< s> 
•^  S  s  iS  "<  5 

f,  2  r-  B  ?s  D 

•       n      rr.    ^      ^P".    ^ 


TURKEY 

voice,  and  you  will  have  a  dim  outline  of 
what  really  happened.  All  had  the  same 
objeft  in  view  —  that  of  getting  as  many 
passengers  as  they  could  carry,  and  as  soon 
as  possible. 

Our  dragoman  turned  us  over  to  a 
Turkish  guide  who  proved  to  be  a  scholar 
and  a  Christian. 

The  bazaars  are  filthy,  but  the  filth 
simply  serves  to  make  prominent  by  con- 
trast the  beautiful  embroideries  and  laces 
displayed  there.  If  one  dares  to  give  more 
than  a  passing  glance  at  any  of  these,  the 
old  Turks  will  follow  trying  to  force  a 
purchase. 

To  think  that  Homer  should  have 
chosen  Smyrna  for  his  birthplace !  Yet  it 
was  and  still  is  the  most  important  city  of 
Asia  Minor,  and  is  piduresquely  situated 
on  the  iEgean  Sea. 

When  we  finally  reached  the  ship,  after 
the  oarsmen's  battles  en  route  during  which 
I  had  sat  still  with  my  eyes  closed  think- 
ing hard,  our  Christian  Turk  came  up  to 
me,  and,  to  my  surprise  and  delight,  whis- 
pered: "We  know  why  we  are  safe,  do 
we  not?" 

I  wonder  if  he  understood  that  the  tears 
in  my  eyes  were  not  from  fear? 

121 


BY  THE  WAY 

The  same  scene  of  the  boatman  was 
ena6led  at  the  Dardenelles.  Later,  how- 
ever, all  the  harsh  things  were  forgotten, 
as  over  a  foreground  of  blue  sea  the  dim 
outline  of  a  city  was  seen  through  the  mist 
of  the  morning. 

No  one  can  call  Constantinople  beauti- 
ful, but  all  must  admit  that  it  is  the  most 
interesting  city  in  Europe.  Unique  in  be- 
ing situated  in  both  Europe  and  Asia,  the 
city  is  divided,  like  Gaul,  into  three  parts — 
Stamboul  and  Galata-Pera,  separated  from 
each  other  by  the  Golden  Horn,  in  Europe, 
and  Skutari  across  the  Bosporus,  in  Asia. 

Galata  is  the  modern  business  se6tion 
containing  the  banks,  steamship  offices, 
commission  houses  and  the  like,  while 
Pera  is  on  the  heights  above  it  with  the 
hotels,  the  embassies  and  the  homes  of 
the  foreigners. 

Stamboul,  or  Constantinople  proper,  is 
situated  on  seven  hills,  on  one  of  which 
stood  the  ancient  city  of  Byzantium.  Here 
are  the  old  seraglio  and  Santa  Sophia, — 
Santa  Sophia,  with  its  altars  of  gold,  mo- 
saics of  precious  stones,  pillars  of  rare 
marble,  its  wonderful  history  and  its  an- 
tiquity. 

Between  the  mountain  and  the  sea,  in 

122 


TURKEY 

Skutari,  nestles  the  cluster  of  buildings 
occupied  by  the  American  College  for  girls, 
the  only  college  for  women  in  the  western 
Levant.  When  you  learn  through  what 
vicissitudes  I  achieved  my  entree  to  this 
cosmopolitan  ecole,  you  will  wonder  that  I 
write  of  it  with  any  degree  of  composure, 
or  that  I  am  here  to  write  of  it  at  all. 

Everything  seemed  so  perfectly  planned 
for  a  comfortable  and  safe  little  journey 
from  the  hotel  in  Pera  to  Skutari,  that  I 
followed  the  attendant  without  question. 
He  placed  me  in  a  caique  ( ki-eek)  putting 
me  in  charge  of  the  caiquejee  (ki-eek-gee), 
saying  that  in  a  few  moments  this  man 
would  land  me  at  the  place  where  my 
American  friend  was  in  waiting  on  the 
other  side. 

A  caique  is  a  long  narrow  skiff  with 
cushions  in  the  bottom  upon  which  one 
must  sit  quietly  else  the  boat  will  tip.  My 
caiquejee  and  his  assistant  seemed  very 
mild  sort  of  Turks,  for  they  would  nod 
and  smile  when  I  waved  my  hand  at 
something  odd  or  interesting. 

I  was  not  versed  then  in  the  etiquette 
of  the  caiquejee,  nor  yet  in  the  mysteries 
of  their  thousand  and  one  superstitions, 
but  I  found,  to  my  sorrow,  that  to  touch 

123 


BY  THE  WAY 

even  the  hem  of  another  caiquejee's  oar 
was  the  signal  for  ordering  guns  or  any 
other  explosive  at  hand,  including  vocal 
fireworks. 

It  was  bright  and  sunny  when  I  left  the 
hotel,  but  a  storm  cloud  soon  appeared 
and  it  grew  darker  and  darker.  In  their 
haste  to  reach  the  other  shore,  my  caique- 
jee  happened  to  run  into  another  caique, 
which  in  any  other  place  on  earth  would 
have  been  overlooked  with  a  bow  of  excuse. 

Not  so  on  the  Bosporus!  My  mild- 
mannered  Turks  and  the  three  in  the  other 
caique  were  at  battle  in  a  second.  Had 
I  been  able  to  speak  their  language,  and 
offer  them  money,  they  could  not  have 
heard  me,  so  horrible  were  their  cries. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  still 
and  pray  and  try  to  balance  the  shell-like 
caique. 

Suddenly  my  caiquejee  raised  his  heavy 
oar  to  fling  it  at  the  other,  lost  his  balance, 
and  we  were  all  dashed  into  the  cold  water 
of  the  Bosporus. 

Instantly  the  clatter  ceased.  Some  one 
held  me  up  in  the  water,  and  guided  the 
upturned  boat  toward  my  hands.  After  the 
longest  moments  of  my  life,  the  other 
heavier  caique  was  caught   and   balanced 

124 


TURKEY 

while  I  was  dragged  into  it.  It  was  then 
I  noticed  there  were  but  four  of  us  where 
there  had  been  six. 

I  did  not  cry  then^  but  tried  to  know  I 
was  being  cared  for.  I  afterwards  learned 
that  it  was  my  silence  that  saved  me.  Had 
I  cried  or  screamed  they  would  have 
thrown  me  overboard  again  and  gone  away 
without  me,  for  there  is  a  superstition  about 
tears  in  a  storm,  and  where  a  woman  is  con- 
cerned all  signs  are  of  an  adverse  nature. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  Turks  gave  a 
blood-curdling  yell  to  attrad:  the  attention 
of  the  pilot  on  the  little  steamer  that  plies 
between  Skutari  and  the  Galata  Bridge. 

I  was  helped  on  board  and  cared  for. 
No  woman  could  have  been  more  kind, 
more  respedlful,  or  more  solicitous  for  my 
comfort  than  were  these  young  Turks. 
They  formed  a  ring  around  me  sheltering 
me  from  the  gaze  of  the  rougher,  older 
ones.  They  put  their  capes  about  me 
while  they  dried  my  coat,  hat  and  shoes, 
and  shielded  my  face  as  I  stood  by  the 
engine  door  to  dry  my  skirt. 

The  young  Turk  who  had  held  me  up 
in  the  water  could  speak  a  little  French, 
and  made  me  understand  that  I  was  per- 
fed:ly  safe  and  that  he  would  see  me  to  my 

125 


BY  THE  WAY 

carriage.  He  told  me  that  he  was  a  pas- 
senger in  the  caique  which  collided  with  the 
one  I  was  in,  and  that  a  caiquejee  from  each 
boat  went  down  in  the  battle. 

When  you  read  some  dramatic  account 
of  the  varied  fancies  that  are  supposed  to 
pass  through  the  thoughts  of  one  who  is 
drowning,  take  it  cum  grano  sails.  Believe 
me,  the  one  and  only  thought  that  takes 
possession  of  a  poor  mortal  at  such  a  time 
is  to  grasp  something  with  his  hands,  and 
if  this  is  accomplished,  his  next  desire  is 
to  feel  something  solid  beneath  his  feet. 
His  past  is  nothing,  his  future  less.  The 
present  is  all  there  is  of  human  existence. 
Oh,  how  well  I  know  this  to  be  true! 

I  tried  to  show  my  gallant  Turk  the 
gratitude  I  felt  for  his  efforts  in  my  behalf. 
He  informed  me  that  I  could  repay  him 
by  speaking  a  word  for  his  countrymen, 
if  the  occasion  arose.  I  can  see  his  dark 
face  now  light  up  with  pleasure  at  my 
promise  as  he  touched  his  forehead  with 
his  hand,  for  he  had  lost  his  fez  in  the 
waters. 

We  parted  neither  of  us  knowing  the 
other's  name,  but  no  word  against  the  ris- 
ing generation  of  Turks  can  ever  be  said 
in  my  presence  since  that  night. 

126 


THE  GALATA  BRIDGE,  CONSTANTINOPLE 

BY  PERMISSION  OF  DR.  LEEPBR 
COPYRIGHT  BY  DR.  LEEPER 


TURKEY 

I  did  not  rest  long  undisturbed  among 
the  cushions  of  the  carriage  he  found  for 
me,  for  my  driver  who  had  gone  on  at  a 
good  speed  suddenly  stopped  in  the  steep- 
est, darkest  part  of  the  almost  perpendicu- 
lar incline  that  leads  up  to  Pera  from 
Galata,  and,  turning,  showed  me  a  coin, 
demanding  something  at  the  same  time. 
I  divined  that  he  was  asking  if  I  would 
pay  him  that  much,  and  I,  with  my  cheeri- 
est smile,  nodded.  But  as  he  turned  to 
gather  up  the  reins  again,  I  caught  sight 
of  his  face  and  only  the  presence  of  my 
guardian  angel,  who  had  held  my  hand  all 
that  awful  day,  kept  me  from  shrieking  or 
from  fainting. 

Finally  we  turned  into  the  lighted  street 
in  which  was  my  hotel,  and  I  was  out  of 
the  vidloria,  through  the  door  and  into  the 
lift  before  the  carriage  had  stopped.  I 
called  to  the  clerk  to  pay  the  tariff  from 
the  Galata  Bridge  and  to  give  the  driver 
his  backsheesh.  Their  angry  voices  ascended 
with  the  elevator. 

When  I  reached  my  room  and  had 
turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  I  sobbed  out 
all  my  pent-up  emotion  and  thankfulness. 

Will  you  credit  it  when  I  tell  you  that 
I   started  again  ?    This  time,  however,  I 

127 


BY  THE  WAY 


went  on  the  steamboat  accompanied  by 
one  of  the  American  teachers  from  the 
college. 


* 


In  spite  of  the  night  spent  on  —  and 
in  —  the  black,  waters  of  the  Bosporus, 
when  I  think  of  Constantinople,  it  is  not 
of  this  —  not  of  its  filthy  streets  nor  its 
thousands  of  pariah  dogs,  not  of  their 
howls  nor  the  well  nigh  unbearable  din  of 
bells  and  yells  —  but  of  my  first  view  of 
a  phantom-like  city,  seated  on  seven  hills, 
the  sides  covered  with  many-colored  roofs 
which  slope  down  to  a  long  white  kiosk, 
of  minarets,  of  mosques  with  slender  spires, 
and  of  one  tall  sentinel  cypress  tree  in  the 
foreground,  all  seen  through  the  haze  of 
dawn  over  Marmora's  blue  waters. 


128 


HUNGARY 

The  tvorld^ t  best  garden. 

Shakspere, 
Htnrj  A'.,  Epilogue. 

BUDAPEST: 

npHE  Oriental  Express  was  thundering 
-■-  around  the  Balkan  Mountains  in  Bul- 
garia on  its  long  run  between  Constanti- 
nople and  Budapest,  when  suddenly,  with 
a  succession  of  sharp  jerks,  the  train  came 
to  a  stop. 

Before  we  could  reach  the  windows, 
above  the  babel  was  heard :  "An  avalanche ! 
An  avalanche !  The  torrent's  burst !  "  And 
with  the  throng  of  people  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain,  it  was  enough  to  strike  ter- 
ror to  the  stoutest  heart. 

Immediately  came  a  guard  to  explain 
that  the  long  tunnel  had  caved  in  and  that 
it  would  be  necessary  for  us  to  walk  across 
the  mountain  through  which  the  tunnel  was 
cut  that  we  might  take  the  train  on  the 
other  side.  The  people  from  that  train  had 
walked  over  the  pass  to  take  our  places, 
and  the  peasants  who  had  carried  their 
luggage  were  waiting  to  take  ours  back. 

129 


BY  THE  WAY 

One  of  the  mountaineers  acting  as  guide 
led  the  way  up  the  narrow  trail  and  down 
to  the  waiting  train  on  the  other  side  — 
perhaps  two  miles. 

Instead  of  a  cross,  fussy  crowd  of  tired 
travelers  grumbling  at  the  climb,  the  guide 
found  us  a  happy  lot  of  overgrown  chil- 
dren, stopping  to  listen  to  the  wonderful 
singing  of  the  birds  or  to  pluck  the  wild 
flowers,  whom  he  had  often  to  remind 
with  his  shnW  "u^vance!"  that  time  was 
passing. 

Among  the  first  to  descend,  I  looked 
back  up  the  trail  and  wondered  if  the  old 
mountain  would  ever  again  witness  such  a 
picture.  Travelers  from  every  nation,  with 
their  different  costumes,  mingling  with  the 
gaily  attired  peasants,  who  carried  on  their 
heads  the  much-labeled  luggage,  all  laugh- 
ing, shouting  or  singing,  made  a  happy 
medley  both  of  color  and  of  sound. 

¥f  ¥r  ¥f  ^  ^  ^ 

Budapest  is  the  most  beautiful  city  of 
the  world,  except,  perhaps,  Barcelona.  You 
need  not  look  in  your  "Noted  Places" 
book  to  verify  this  statement,  for  you  will 
not  find  it  there,  ^u  contrairey  this  opinion 
is  my  own. 

Go  to  Budapest,  seled:  a  room  with  win- 

130 


HUNGARY 

dows  giving  on  the  Danube,  and  see  if  you 
do  not  agree  with  me.  Throw  the  guide- 
books aside  and  wander  down  the  superb 
Franz  Joseph  Quai.  Note  the  battlements, 
the  colossal  statues  of  bronze,  the  Moor- 
ish architedure  united  with  that  of  the 
Romanesque.  You  will  not  find  all  the 
sumptuousness  of  Budapest  on  this  street, 
however,  for  it  is  scattered  everywhere. 

The  beauty  of  the  architecture  can  be 
seen  by  daylight,  but  the  glory  of  Buda- 
pest can  only  be  felt  as  you  sail  away, 

**  Some  night  in  June, 
Upon  the  Danube  River." 


131 


w 


AUSTRIA 

yf//  places  that  the  eye  of  heaven  "visits 
Are  to  a  'wise  man  forts  and  happy  ha-vens. 

Shakspere,  Richard  //., 
Act  I, Scene  3,  Line  275. 

VIENNA : 

'E  ARRIVED  in  Vienna  with  the  Em- 
peror. In  fadt,  we  ad:ed  as  his  advance 
guard  for  some  time,  his  train  following 
ours.  The  Emperor  himself  was  but  a 
small  part  of  the  show,  for  the  officers 
of  his  suite  outshone  all  else,  and  were 
swagger  to  a  degree.  German  and  Austrian 
army  officers  are  imposing  anywhere,  but 
especially  so  on  horseback. 

Vienna  is  a  city  within  a  city,  for  the 
fortifications  which  surrounded  the  old 
town  have  been  torn  down  and  replaced 
by  a  broad  boulevard  which  separates  the 
ancient  from  the  modern  portion.  Within 
this  Ring-Strasse  the  streets  are  narrow  and 
the  houses  mediaeval;  without,  you  will  find 
one  of  the  most  inviting  cities  of  Europe. 

Vienna  is  gay,  sparkling  and  fascinating. 
Its  opera  and  its  shops  are  world  renowned, 

132 


AUSTRIA 

and  it  is  a  close  rival  of  Paris  in  setting 
the  modes. 

Nowhere  in  all  Europe  can  so  much 
beauty  and  grandeur  of  mountain,  forest 
and  stream  be  crowded  into  one  day  as 
during  a  sail  on  the  Danube  from  Linz 
to  Vienna. 


133 


GERMANY 

For  noiv  I  am  in  a  holiday  humour. 

Shakspere,  Jls   Ttu  Like  It, 
Act  IV,  Scene  I,  Line  68. 

MUNICH: 

TV /TY  INTRODUCTION  to  Bavaria  was 
■*-^-^  through  Salzburg.  It  was  a  happy- 
presentation,  as  few  towns  can  compare 
with  it  in  situation. 

Salzburg  is  surrounded  by  mountains 
with  castles  on  every  peak.  It  was  the 
home  of  Mozart,  and  is  overflowing  with 
interesting  memoirs  of  that  great  musician. 

^  ^  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

Munich  is  a  city  of  wealth.  It  is  the 
Mecca  for  students  of  art  and  music  and 
the  starting-point  for  the  three  wondrous 
castles  built  by  the  Mad  King  of  Bavaria, 
as  well  as  for  Oberammergau.  Nestling 
at  the  foot  of  the  Austrian  Alps,  a  long 
chain  of  mountains  may  be  seen  on  a  clear 
day,  in  all  its  splendor,  from  the  statue 
of  Bavaria.  Munich  possesses  a  lion's 
share  of  public  buildings  architedlurally 
notable. 


w 


GERMANY 
NtJRNBERG: 

'HiLE  in  Munich  we  were  entertained 
in  the  home  of  Baroness  von  H., 
giving  us  a  glimpse  into  German  intimate  ii 
life,  and  here  I  have  had  the  privilege 
again  of  being  in  the  home  of  an  American 
girl  who  married  a  German  officer.  I  find 
their  life  ideal. 

I  love  Germany  and  the  Germans. 
They  move  quicker  than  any  of  our  for- 
eign cousins,  notwithstanding  the  slowness 
ascribed  to  them  in  story,  and  there  is  al- 
ways something  doing. 

This  fancy  of  mine  about  rapidity  is,  I 
presume,  accentuated  by  a  hurried  glimpse 
of  the  Empire  which  these  German  friends 
have  given  me.  And  right  here  let  me 
say  that  foreigners  need  no  longer  poke 
flm  at  us  for  the  "lightning  conductor" 
manner  with  which  some  of  us  see  the 
world. 

The  itinerary  took  us  first  to  Berlin; 
and  dancing  through  my  head  are  pictures 
of  Brandenburg  Gates,  Sieges- Alices  and 
Thiergartens ;  of  Charlottenburg  with  its 
m-ausoleum  of  the  much-loved  Queen 
Louise  of  pidured  fame ;  of  Potsdam  with 
its  Sans  Souci;  of  Frankfort-on-Main  with 
the  renowned  Palmen  Garten;    of  Dres- 


BY  THE  WAY 


den  and  its  Academy  of  Arts ;  of  Wies- 
baden, its  tourists  and  springs ;  of  Metz, 
with   its   Conservatory  and  its  high-bred 


women. 

*         *         * 


Niirnberg  is  unlike  any  other  place  in 
the  world.  I  never  have  seen  such  odd 
bridges,  fountains  and  oriel  windows.  It 
is  the  home  of  the  Faber  pencil,  and  leads 
the  world  in  the  manufacture  of  wonderful 
toys;  and  yet  this  busy  little  city  has  pre- 
served to  a  larger  extent  than  any  other 
in  Germany  the  appearance  of  the  Middle 
Ages.   Its  quiet  quaintness  makes  it  a  gem. 

If  you  can  see  but  one  place  in  Ger- 
many, let  it  be  Nurnberg. 


136 


MODERN  NURNBERG 
OLD  NURNBERG 


FRANCE 

^e  'voudraii  n  etre  pas  Francais  pour  pouvoir  dire, — 

Siue  jt  te  c hoists,  France,  et  que 

ye  te  proclame 

Ma  patrie  et  ma  gloire  et  man  unique  amour ! 

Victor  Hugo,  A  La  France. 

Oh,  to  ha-ve  been  born  ehetuhere,  that  I  might  choose 
thee,  France,  and  proclaim  thee  my  country,  my  glory 
and  my  ozvn  ! 

Translation  by  Eleanor  Everest  Freer, 

PARIS : 

'IpHE  captain  advised  us  to  remain  on 
-■■  deck  while  the  ship  was  entering  the 
harbor  at  Havre,  and  we  were  repaid  for 
the  midnight  vigil  by  the  brilliancy  of  the 
scene.  The  port  itself  is  narrow,  but  the 
ejffed:  of  space  is  given  by  the  numerous 
basins  and  the  canal,  filled  with  craft  and 
sails  of  every  description.  The  splendid 
masonry  stands  out  strong  and  beautiful 
under  the  multitude  of  eleftric  lights  which 
line  the  shore  on  either  side. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  Havre  so  large 
and  fine  a  city.  Neither  Baedeker  nor 
Hare  tell  about  its  beauties  nor  its  harbor. 
We  had  more  time  there  than  we  had 
counted  on  because  we  missed  the  early 


BY  THE  WAY 

morning  train  to  Rouen,  but  we  passed  it 
very  pleasantly  in  this  bright  Norman  city. 

It  is  the  rural  part  that  has  made  Nor- 
mandy famous,  and  that  part  which  lies 
between  Havre  and  Rouen  is  beautiful. 
It  lies  low  and  is  checkered  with  little 
silver  streams  that  flow  this  way  and  that 
through  every  sedlion. 

Rouen,  too,  keeps   up   the   Normandy 

record  for  quaintness.  Suzanne  and  I  would 

have  been   willing   to   settle   right    down 

there  and  stay,  but  we  stopped  only  long 

enough  to  see  St.  Ouen,  one  of  the  most 

beautiful  Gothic  churches  in  existence,  and 

the  Palais  de  Justice,  which  is  a  splendid 

copy  of  Belgian  architecture. 

^^  ^         *         *         *         *  * 

I  must  tell  you  what  a  joy  you  are !  You 
have  contented  yourself  with  the  daily 
post-card  and  the  by-weekly  billet-doux^ 
which  have  been  plus  doux  que  long^  I  fear, 
but  without  the  usual  weekly  budget. 

We  have  been  going  so  fast  that  I  think 
it  wise  to  wait  a  bit  and  endeavor  to  digest 
the  knowledge  gained  in  travel  before 
writing  of  it.  As  I  look  back  over  what  I 
have  seen  in  the  last  few  months,  both  in 
art  and  nature,  I  realize  the  truth  of  a  little 
thing  I  once  read,  taken  from  a  letter  by 

138 


FRANCE 

a  well-known  writer  of  short  stories   to 
William  Dean  Howells. 

She  said  that  we  must  have  some  atmos- 
phere, some  distance,  between  ourselves 
and  our  theme  in  order  to  get  perspeftive, 
whether  one  be  painter  or  writer.  So  I  feel 
sure  that  this  budget  will  lose  nothing  by 
the  waiting  when  I  tell  you  what  I  have 
picked  up  by  the  way  in  la  belle  Paris. 

If  you  can  come  but  once,  do  not  come 
in  July  or  August,  the  tourist  season. 
Paris  is  a  dream  of  beauty  at  all  seasons, 
but  the  charm  of  any  city  is  obscured 
when  it  is  crowded  as  Paris  is  during  those 
months. 

Come  in  May.    Do  you  not  remember 
what  Vidtor  Hugo  said  in  "  Le  Proscrit"  ? 
**Le  mois  de  mai  sans  la  France, 
Ce  n'est  pas  le  mois  de  mai." 

We  did  a  wise  thing  in  choosing  from 
among  our  numerous  addresses  a  pension 
*' downtown."  It  saves  us  time,  strength 
and  money.  It  is  not  one  of  those  pensions 
Longfellow  used  to  tell  about,  which  had 
inscribed  on  its  front: 

**Ici  on  donne  a  boire  et  a  manger; 
On  lege  a  pied  et  a  cheval ! ' ' 

Literally, "  Here  we  give  to  drink  and  to 
eat;  we  lodge  on  foot  and  on  horseback." 

139 


BY  THE  WAY 

Our  pension  only  gives  to  eat  and  to  lodge 
"  on  foot."  I  do  not  mention  the  drinking, 
for  seldom,  I  find,  can  one  get  a  good  cup 
of  coffee  anywhere.  The  chocolate  and  tea 
are  perfed;,  however,  and  the  little  crescent- 
shaped  rolls  and  the  fresh,  unsalted  butter 
are  delicious. 

We  are  on  the  Rue  de  la  Bienfaisance, 
just  off  the  Boulevard  Haussman,  not  far 
from  the  beautiful  eglise  Saint  Augustin, 
where  many  of  the  weddings  of  the  Paris 
four  hundred  are  celebrated,  and  only  a 
few  minutes'  walk  from  the  Gare  Saint 
Lazare. 

We  call  each  morning  for  our  English 
friends,  who  live  in  the  Rue  des  Pyramides, 
near  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  at  the  place  where 
stands  the  bronze  statue  of  Jeanne  d'Arc. 

The  Louvre  Palais,  which  contains  the 
Musee,  and  the  Tuileries  are  just  across 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  with  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde  a  little  farther  up.  The  Grand 
Opera  is  but  a  few  squares  away,  with  the 
American  Express  of^ce  near  it,  and  the 
Church  of  the  Madeleine  hard  by. 

The  Place  de  la  Concorde  is  an  immense 
square  with  mammoth  pieces  of  sculpture 
at  each  corner,  representing  the  provinces 
taken  from  the  Germans.    One  of  these 

140 


FRANCE 

provinces  was  recaptured  by  the  Germans, 
but  instead  of  marring  the  Place  by  re- 
moving the  statue,  it  is  kept  draped  with 
crepe  and  wreaths  of  flowers.  In  the  cen- 
ter of  the  square  is  the  obeHsk,  with  foun- 
tains playing  about  it. 

The  roads  are  as  white  as  snow,  both 
through  and  around  the  Place.  It  is  framed 
in  green  by  the  Tuileries,  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  the  banks  of  the  Seine. 

There  is  a  view  one  gets  right  here 
which  cannot,  perhaps,  be  excelled  in  all 
the  world.  If  you  stand  at  the  court  of  the 
Louvre  in  the  space  where  the  Arc  de  Car- 
rousal  meets  the  Louvre  Palais,  and  look 
through  the  arch,  the  eye  catches  at  once 
the  green  of  the  Tuileries  garden  and  its 
trees,  the  dazzling  brightness  of  its  mar- 
bles, the  sparkling  of  its  fountains,  the 
obelisk,  and  far  on  through  the  Champs 
Elysees,  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  which 
makes  a  fitting  finish  for  this  most  glori- 
ous vista. 

I  am  at  loss  to  tell  you  just  what  to  do 
with  only  a  week  in  this  little  world,  but 
let  nothing  deter  you  from  coming.  I 
would  rather  have  come  for  one  day  than 
never  to  have  seen  it  at  all.  With  a  week 
on  your  hands,  and  an  inclination  in  your 

141 


BY  THE  WAY 

heart,  you  can  do  wonders  in  this  the  most 
fascinating  city  on  the  globe. 

Were  one  to  be  here  but  a  short  time, 
a  drive  over  the  city  should  occupy  the 
first  day.  Parties  are  sent  out  every  day, 
with  guides  who  know  the  best  routes, 
and  it  is  not  a  bad  idea  to  join  one  of 
them.  Do  not,  however,  go  with  a  party 
to  see  interiors  or  the  works  of  art,  for  one 
is  so  hurried  that  one  scarcely  knows  what 
has  been  seen. 

As  an  illustration :  Two  young  girls 
stopping  at  our  pension  joined  one  of  these 
parties  going  to  Versailles  the  same  day 
that  Suzanne  and  I  went. 

We  had  seats  on  top  of  the  steam  tram 
which  leaves  every  hour  from  the  foot  of 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde  Bridge.  We 
spent  the  entire  day  at  Versailles,  and  came 
away  after  dark  feeling  that  we  had  had 
the  merest  peep  at  the  parks  and  gardens, 
vast  with  miles  of  marble  terraces,  miles 
of  lime-tree  bowers,  fountains  of  gold,  of 
silver  and  of  bronze,  green  of  all  shades, 
flowers  of  all  colors,  staircases  of  onyx, 
paintings,  sculptures  and  relics  of  untold 
value.  We  walked  miles  and  had  been 
driven  tens  of  miles  through  the  parks 
and  gardens  of  the  Grand  and  Petit  Tria- 

142 


FRANCE 

non.  We  had  stood  by  the  most  stupen- 
dous series  of  fountains  the  world  has  ever 
known.  And  we  crawled  home  weary,  but 
happy  at  heart  for  all  this  beauty,  to  find 
that  our  poor  little  friends  had  been  there 
but  two  hours, —  that  they  had  galloped 
from  place  to  place,  catching  but  little,  if 
anything,  of  the  foreign  names  pronounced 
so  differently  from  the  way  we  are  taught. 

Versailles  is  one  of  the  places  where 
there  are  official  guides,  and  it  pays  to  hire 
one  by  the  hour. 

Of  the  museums,  see  the  Luxembourg 
first,  because,  while  the  gardens  are  beauti- 
ful, they  are  not  so  well  kept  nor  to  be 
compared  with  those  of  the  Louvre  or 
Versailles.  The  works  of  art  are  placed  in 
the  Luxembourg  gallery  during  the  life- 
time of  an  artist,  if  his  works  merit  that 
honor;  if  his  fame  lives  for  ten  years  after 
his  death,  they  are  transferred  to  the 
Louvre.  Hence  it  is  in  the  Luxembourg 
one  will  find  the  best  works  of  living  artists. 

The  Louvre  Musee  is  a  vast  colledion 
of  classified  art,  and  occupies  the  palace  of 
that  name,  any  room  of  which  will  repay 
one's  effort  to  see  it. 

Just  wander  about  alone  until  some 
work  of  art  compels  you  to  stop  before  it. 


BY  THE  WAY 

Then  look  at  your  Baedeker  and  see  if  it 
is  something  noted.  It  tickles  one's  vanity 
to  find  one  has  selected  a  masterpiece  with- 
out having  it  pointed  out.  Speaking  of 
guide-books,  Baedeker  is  by  far  the  best, 
and  rarely  fails  one  excepting  in  galleries, 
where  it  is  impossible  to  keep  an  accurate 
list  of  the  works  of  art,  as  they  are  fre- 
quently moved  from  room  to  room,  or  are 
loaned  to  some  world's  exposition. 

In  the  Louvre  are  many  of  the  pidures 
which  every  boy  or  girl  knows.  Well- 
known  masterpieces  of  Titian,  Raphael, 
Van  Dyke,  Rembrandt,  Rubens,  Murillo 
and  Fra  Angelico  make  one  agree  with 
Marie  Corelli,  that  the  old  masters  took 
their  secret  of  colors  away  with  them. 

I  astonished  my  English  friends  by  an- 
nouncing that  I  did  not  like  Dickens,  and 
now  I'll  shock  my  Holland  friends  by  not 
liking  Rubens. 

One  should  get  catalogues  of  both  the 
Louvre  and  Luxembourg  galleries. 

If  you  can  make  time  see  Cluny,  Gui- 
met,  the  Musee  des  Religions,  the  Musee 
Gustave  Moreau,  the  Musee  Cernuski  — 
almost  wholly  oriental, — the  Musee  Brig- 
noli-Galliera,  the  magnificent  display  of 
stained  glass  in  the  Sainte-Chapelle — this 

144 


FRANCE 

on  a  bright,  sunshiny  day, —  and  that  most 
wonderful  of  modern  paintings  on  the 
wall  of  the  large  amphitheatre  of  the  Sor- 
bonne  University  done  by  Puvis  de  Cha- 
vannes. 

The  best  manner  to  see  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  is  to  take  a  boat  on  the  Seine 
at  the  Pont  Royal,  stopping  at  St.  Cloud 
and  Sevres,  and,  after  an  hour  of  exquisite 
rest  amid  the  dreamland  on  either  side, 
disembark  at  Suresnes,  cross  the  bridge, 
and  walk  back  to  Paris  through  the  forest. 
We  took  the  earliest  morning  boat.  As 
it  chanced  to  be  the  day  of  the  Bataille  des 
Fleurs,  we  spent  some  time  viewing  this 
beautiful  scene.  We  stopped  frequently  at 
little  cafes  for  tea  or  rest,  and  six  o'clock 
found  us  at  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  hailing 
a  cab  to  take  us  home.  It  was  fatiguing, 
but  in  no  other  way  could  we  have  seen  so 
well  the  splendid  woods  and  the  glimpses 
of  family  life  among  the  bon  bourgeois. 

The  day  you  go  to  Notre  Dame,  cross 
the  Pont  d'Arcole,  and  that  brings  you 
right  into  the  gardens  of  the  Hotel  de 
Ville,  which  is  beyond  doubt  the  most 
magnificent  palace  of  justice  in  the  world. 
Its  decorations  rival  those  of  the  Louvre. 
The  entrance,  the  galleries,  the  ballroom 


BY  THE  WAY 

and  the  banquet  hall  are  splendid  beyond 
description.  The  ceiling  decorations  are 
all  by  noted  artists,  and  represent  some 
type  of  Plenty,  Music,  or  Love.  It  is 
marvelous,  the  art  these  French  have  put 
into  their  archite6ture. 

The  crowning  delight,  that  of  a  visit  to 
the  tomb  of  Napoleon,  awaits  your  week's 
end.  The  tomb  is  in  the  crypt  under  the 
Dome  des  Invalides,  a  home  for  old  sol- 
diers, and  is  reached  by  walking  through 
the  gardens  and  long,  cloister-like  passages 
of  the  Invalides.  As  I  entered,  my  eyes  fell 
on  an  immense  altar,  through  the  amber 
window  of  which  a  flood  of  golden  light 
poured  on  a  colossal  cross,  lighting  the 
face  of  the  bronze  figure  of  Christ  nailed 
to  it,  making  a  most  dramatic  pidlure. 
This  figure  was  cast  from  one  of  Napoleon's 
cannons. 

The  tomb  itself  is  a  large  marble  basin, 

over  the  edge  of  which  you  look  down 

onto  the  sarcophagus  cut  out  of  a  huge 

block  of  reddish-brown  granite.    It  stands 

on  a  mosaic  pavement,  in  the  form  of  a 

laurel  wreath,  and   around  the  walls   are 

twelve   colossal   statues    representing   the 

twelve  vi6tories. 

****** 

146 


FRANCE 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  born  either  rich  or 
a  hod-carrier ! "  The  very  idea  of  a  woman 
of  my  parts  counting  centimes  !  Instead  of 
telling  my  friends  how  to  come  on  the 
least  money,  I'd  rather  say,  Wait  —  until 
you  have  millions  to  buy  the  dainty  con- 
fedions  with  which  Paris  abounds.  It  gives 
me  heartaches  "to  look  and  smile  and 
reach  for,  then  stop  and  sigh  and  count  the 
aforesaid  centimes"  From  this  you  have, 
perhaps,  surmised  that  we  have  been  going 
over  the  pros  and  cons  of  shopping  —  prin- 
cipally the  cons. 

^4:         *         *         *         *         * 

How  foolish  of  me  to  tell  any  one  not 
to  come  to  dear,  mad,  wild,  glorious  Paris ! 
"Why,  I'd  come,  if  only  to  remain  a  day, 
and  though  I  had  nothing  to  eat  for  a  year 
thereafter. 

Last  night  when  I  wrote,  I  was  "  way 
back  at  the  end  of  the  procession,"  but  this 
morning  I  am  "  right  up  behind  the  band." 
And  the  reason  ?  Never  ask  a  woman  so- 
journing on  foreign  shores  for  a  motif. 
There  is  but  one  that,  far  from  those  she 
loves,  makes  or  mars  the  pleasure  of  be- 
ing, brings  the  sunshine  or  the  cloud,  reg- 
ulates the  pulse-beats  of  her  very  existence, 
and  that  is  — A  LETTER! 

H7 


BY  THE  WAY 

I  have  not  told  you.  For  some  days  I 
have  had  no  word,  hence  my  lowly  posi- 
tion of  yesterday.  But  on  this  bright, 
beautiful  morning  I  found  on  my  break- 
fast tray  a  packet  of  many-stamped,  much- 
crossed  and  often-forwarded  letters.  And 
now,  although  it  is  raining  in  torrents,  and 
the  coffee  is  —  not  coffee, —  I  can  see  only 
golden  words,  and  those  through  rose- 
tinted  glasses. 

"Ah,  what  care  I  how  bad  the  weather!" 
****** 

Mademoiselle  D.  is  here,  the  guest  of 
friends  at  their  country  house  at  Fontaine- 
bleau.  The  day  she  was  our  hostess  she 
met  us  at  the  station,  and  we  were  driven 
through  a  long  lane,  flanked  on  either 
side  by  immense  trees,  to  the  Chateau  of 
Fontainebleau. 

No  other  palace  has  aroused  so  keen 
an  interest  as  has  the  interior  of  this  noble 
old  mediaeval  fortress,  which  Francis  I. 
converted  into  the  present  chateau.  In  this ; 
palace  are  tapestries  of  rare  worth  andi 
weave,  jardinieres  in  cloisonne,  bas-reliefs 
in  jasper,  masterpieces  of  marquetry,  andl 
priceless  bric-a-brac,  found  nowhere  else  in 
such  lavish  profusion. 

148 


FRANCE 

Mademoiselle's  hostess  sent  her  ser- 
vants with  a  dainty  luncheon,  which  they 
served  for  us  on  the  marble  steps  leading 
from  VEtang  des  Carpes  to  the  water's 
edge.  The  afternoon  and  early  hours  of 
the  evening  were  spent  in  driving  through 
the  forest  and  at  Barbizon. 

Oh,  the  air  of  artistic  Bohemia,  the  at- 
mosphere of  achievement  which  dominates 
this  world-renowned  Barbizon!  It  does 
not  seem  possible  that  the  Barbizon  of 
which  Will  Low  gives  a  description  in  his 
"A  Chronicle  of  Friendships"  could  have 
remained  unaltered  since  the  early  seven- 
ties, but  it  has.  Both  his  brush  and  pen 
pidlures  are  so  vividly  accurate,  that  I 
pointed  out  many  of  his  old  and  beloved 
haunts  before  Mademoiselle  had  time  to 
tell  me.  Often  she  would  say,  "You  have 
been  here  hQ^ovQ,  n'est-ce-pas?'^  I  always 
assured  her  to  the  contrary,  but  always 
added, "  I  shall  surely  come  again." 

At  the  very  word  "Barbizon"  the 
thoughts  fly  back,  involuntarily,  to  those 
painters  whose  names  stand  for  all  that  is 
highest  and  best  in  Art.  Their  early  life 
songs  ran  in  minor  chords,  to  be  sure,  but 
the  vibrations  have  lost  the  pathos,  and 
we  hear  only  of  the  beauty  and  joy  they 

149 


BY  THE  WAY 

have  left  behind  them  for  their  fellow 
men. 

Every  child  knows  "The  Angelus,"  and 
every  lover  of  the  truth  in  pifture,  song 
or  story  pauses  a  moment  before  the  bronze 
face  of  Millet,  set  into  a  rock  that  lies  on 
the  edge  of  this  wee  village. 

The  forest  of  Fontainebleau  embraces 
over  fifty  square  miles,  and  its  magnificent 
timber  and  pidiuresque  splendor  are  not 
surpassed  in  all  France. 

^  w  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

We  were  guests  at  the  American  Am- 
bassador's reception  yesterday.  His  house, 
just  off  the  Champs  Elysees,  is  furnished 
with  elegance  and  taste.  The  gowns  worn 
by  both  the  French  and  American  women 
were  most  of  them  airy  creations  of  lace, 
many  of  them  gorgeous,  all  of  them  grace- 
ful and  fetching.  Lace  is  the  prominent 
fadlor  in  gowns  here. 

Refreshments  were  served  from  a  buffet 
set  in  one  of  the  drawing-rooms,  and  gen- 
tlemen, instead  of  ladies,  assisted  the  host- 
ess about  the  rooms. 

w  ^  ^  ^S*  ^  46* 

The  Bois  of  Vincennes  is  a  park  cover- 
ing some  two  thousand  acres  laid  out  with 
drives,  walks,  lakes  and  islands,  and  while 

150 


BOIS    DE    VINCENNES 
CHATEAU   D'AMBOISE 


FRANCE 

less  frequented  than  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
it  is  fully  as  attra6tive.  Louis  IX.  hunted 
in  this  forest  in  1 270,  but  Louis  XV.  trans- 
formed it  into  a  park  in  1731. 

Fontenay-sous-Bois,  an  odd  little  vil- 
lage, is  charmingly  situated  on  the  edge 
of  these  woods.  We  had  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  the  petit  gateaux  of  France,  and, 
happily  for  us,  we  found  them  at  Fonte- 
nay  as  good  as  in  Paris.  We  would  stop 
at  the  old  patisserie  to  get  them,  on  our 
way  to  the  Bois,  where  we  went  every  af- 
ternoon to  write  or  to  study  and  to  hear 
the  band. 

Not  far  from  Fontenay  is  the  antique 
al  fresco  theatre  of  Champigny  where  the 
leading  adiors  of  France  can  be  seen  dur- 
ing the  summer  months. 

BOULOGNE-SUR-MER : 

STARTED  to  spcnd  a  few  days  at  Paris- 
Plage,  one  of  the  fascinating  seasides  of 
France,  where  is  found  that  rare  combina- 
tion, an  excellent  beach  with  shade  trees; 
but,  instead,  I  stopped  two  months  at  Et- 
aples,  a  little  fishing  village,  about  a  mile 
from  the  Plage,  with  a  shady  path  through 
the  woods  between  the  two  places. 

Etaples  is  the  old  sketching-ground  of 


BY  THE  WAY 

Millais  and  Whistler,  near  Boulogne-sur- 
Mer,  and  is  crowded  with  artists.  It  is  on 
an  arm  of  the  sea,  when  the  tide  is  in,  but 
when  that  incomprehensibly  weird  thing 
is  outy  it  is  on  a  waste  of  dry  sand.  Etaples 
is  but  a  short  distance  from  the  village  of 
Montreuil,  with  its  outdoor  summer  school 
for  sketching.  Because  of  the  old  Roman 
ramparts  which  are  still  standing  and  be- 
cause of  its  quaintness  and  its  antiquity, 
Montreuil  also  attrads  a  large  colony  of 
painters. 

w  w  76*  w  w  w 

I  am  often  asked  what  foreign  language 
I  would  suggest  as  most  useful  for  travel- 
ers.   I   answer  unhesitatingly,  "  French !  " 

French  is  taught  in  the  schools  of  every 
nation  save  our  own,  and  it  is  spoken 
by  every  educated  foreigner.  Whenever  I 
could  not  ask  for  what  I  wanted  in  the 
language  of  the  country,  invariably  I  was 
asked  by  host,  "boots,"  or  with  whom- 
ever I  was  gesticulating, — 

^^  Parlez  vous  Fran^ais?  " 

The  study  of  French  is  a  subject  to 
which  every  parent  should  give  serious 
consideration.  No  nation  is  so  under- 
languaged  as  ours ;  and  no  language  is  so 
necessary  to  a  traveler  as  French.    It  helps 

152 


FRANCE 

one  with  his  own  language  and  adds  an 
interest  and  enjoyment  to  intercourse  with 
our  foreign  cousins ;  while  without  it,  we 
stand  mute  and  helpless  and  ofttimes  be- 
wildered, and  advantage  is  taken  of  our 
seeming  stupidity. 

Study  English  first    and    always,  and 

polish  it  by  the  study  of  French. 

*         ^         *         *         *         * 

In  spite  of  the  fad:  that  Boulogne-sur- 
Mer  is  full  of  English  pleasure-seekers, 
we  spent  restful,  happy  days  there  in  a 
pension  which  occupies  an  old  monastery. 

BLOIS : 

■pvo    YOU    recall    how   Athos    of  "The 

^^  Three  Musketeers"  fame  was  con- 
tinually reminding  D'Artagnan  that  the 
"purest  French  in  all  France  is  spoken  in 
Blois"  ?  And  it  was  because  of  my  inter- 
est in  Dumas's  heroes  that,  when  the  time 
came  for  me  to  visit  the  chateau  country 
I  made  Blois  my  home. 

I  am  unable  to  pass  upon  the  "purest 
French,"  but  I  can  assure  you  that  I  watch 
in  vain  for  the  polished  Athos,  or  the  reck- 
less, dashing  D'Artagnan  of  former  days. 
I  ^zVfind  the  youthful  Aramis — but  not  at 
Blois.   This  one  was  en  route  to  Waterloo 


BY  THE  WAY 

The  only  time  I  feel  inclined  to  forgive 
Henry  James  for  the  unkind  things  he 
has  said  of  my  countrywomen,  is  when  I 
read  his  French  sojourns  and  recall  his 
advice  that  the  best  economy  is  to  stop  at 
Blois  first  when  on  a  visit  to  this  fascinat- 
ing region. 

If  you  desire  a  unique  experience  and 
would  have  entrh  as  a  parlor  boarder  to 
the  fashionable  school  for  demoiselles^  go  to 
Blois  armed  with  letters  from  the  president, 
the  king  or  emperor  of  your  fatherland. 
Fortunately,  the  day  I  arrived  with  my 
credentials,  two  English  girls  had  been 
called  home,  and  when  at  last  I  was  per- 
mitted to  matriculate,  I  had  their  room 
alone,  with  windows  giving  on  the  terrace 
and  the  Loire. 

I  fell  into  line  with  the  rules  of  the  in- 
stitution, and  studied,  recited,  walked  out 
each  evening  chaperoned  by  one  of  the 
mistresses,  and  took  my  holiday  every 
Thursday  with  the  other  students. 

Sometimes  Tasked  and  was  given  per- 
mission to  add  Friday  and  Saturday  to  my 
holiday  when  I  wished  to  stop  longer  than 
one  day  at  some  of  the  old  chateaux.  I 
always  returned,  however,  proud  that  my 
Chateau  of  Blois  was  the  finest  of  them  all. 


FRANCE 

The  Chateau  of  Blois  was  eredied  on  a 
colossal  foundation,  both  strong  and  high, 
but  the  castle  itself  is  light  and  graceful, 
with  its  wonderful  staircase  and  court  of 
Fran9ois  I.  I  used  often  to  take  my  book 
to  the  little  park  in  front  of  the  chateau 
and  sit  for  hours — not  reading,  but  gazing 
at  the  old  castle  and  dreaming  of  Brage- 
lonne  and  Louise. 

w  w  ^  W  ^  ^ 

The  Chateau  of  Chambord  is  counted  as 
one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  the  Renais- 
sance in  existence.  Here  is  found  that 
wonderful  double  spiral  staircase  so  ar- 
ranged that  one  can  go  up  and  another 
down  at  the  same  time  without  each  seeing 
the  other. 

If  your  time  is  limited,  make  up  a 
motor  party  and  visit  the  Chateaux  of 
Cheverny  and  Beauregard  on  the  same 
day  you  go  to  Chambord,  returning  by 
the  Valley  of  Cesson.  In  the  same  man- 
ner—  that  is,  from  Blois  and  by  motor  — 
visit  Amboise  and  Chaumont.  Both  can 
be  explored  in  one  day.  Both  overhang 
the  Loire,  and  both  teem  with  history  and 
beauty. 

Make  Tours  your  headquarters  from 
which  to  visit  the  chateaux  of  Touraine. 

"^55 


BY  THE  WAY 

Some  one  has  said:  "Normandy  is  Nor- 
mandy, Burgundy  is  Burgundy,  but  Tou- 
raine  is  France."  It  is  the  home  of  Balzac, 
Rabelais,  Descartes,  chateaux,  books,  beau- 
tiful women  and  romance. 

We  lived  in  an  old  chateau  on  Rue  de 
Cygne.  You  may  have  a  suite  of  rooms 
and  keep  house,  if  you  wish,  and  Madame 
will  find  you  an  excellent  bonne;  or,  you 
may  simply  have  lodgings  and  dine  where 
you  will. 

Tours  is  a  good  place  in  which  to  spend 
an  entire  summer.  From  there  should  be 
visited  the  chateaux  and  towns  of  Chinon, 
Azay-le-Rideau,  Montbazon,  Loches,  and, 
last,  the  exquisite  Chateau  of  Chenonceaux 
with  its  lemon  color.  It  recalls  Venice,  for 
it  is  built  on  piles  in  the  River  Cher. 

MARSEILLES : 

FROM  Tours  to  Paris,  from  Paris  to 
Geneva,  to  Aix-les-Bains,  to  Turin,  to 
Genoa  and  the  French  Riviera  —  such  was 
our  somewhat  roundabout  route  to  Mar- 
seilles. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  journey 

filled  with   more  magnificent  and   varied 

scenery  and  with  more  of  romantic  interest. 

We  have  climbed  up  and  around  and 

156 


o  "  r> 

ro  >  > 

o  2'a 
>  °  o 


FRANCE 

over  the  Alps,  following  the  gorge  of 
the  upper  Rhone.  For  nearly  a  day  we 
threaded  the  mountains,  their  tops  veiled 
by  the  clouds.  Scarcely  ever  were  we  out 
of  sight  of  a  leaping  cascade  or  a  pidur- 
esque  village  perched  high  above,  or  far 
below  us,  except  when  rushing  in  and  out 
of  the  countless  short  tunnels.  Of  only 
less  interest  was  the  crossing  of  the  Apen- 
nines from  Turin  to  Genoa. 

From  Genoa,  we  have  traversed  the 
Riviera  by  train,  tram,  carriage  and  on 
foot — from  the  Promenade  d' Anglais  at 
Nice  to  the  famous  Corniche  road  between 
Nice  and  Monaco. 

On  a  Sunday  afternoon  at  Monte  Carlo 
we  had  our  tea  on  the  terrace  of  the 
Casino  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  sacred 
concert  by  an  exquisite  orchestra  on  the 
one  side,  and  the  sharp  click  of  the 
croupier  s  rake  in  the  gambling  salle  on 
the  other. 

Amidst  such  bewitching  surroundings — 
the  balmy  air,  the  profusion  of  flowers, 
the  towering  Maritime  Alps,  and  the  blue 
Mediterranean  at  the  feet — one  can  easily 
fancy  oneself  in  an  earthly  paradise. 

You  have,  of  course,  read  much  of  the 
principahty  of  Monaco  embracing  its  eight 

^S7 


BY  THE  WAY 

square  miles  of  territory,  with  its  op^ra 
bouffe  government,  and  how,  surrounded 
by  French  territory,  its  independence  has 
been  recognized  for  several  centuries.  It 
is  needless  to  tell  you,  too,  of  the  gambling 
carried  on  in  its  Casino,  hedged  in  by 
every  external  element  of  alluring  culture 
and  refinement.  But,  I  dare  affirm  that, 
apart  from  its  gambling,  Monaco  is  one  of 
the  enchanted  spots  of  earth.  The  Cote 
d'Azur^  as  this  coast  is  affedtionately 
named,  haunts  me  still. 

Have  I  mentioned  the  masonry  of  this 
region  ?  All  through  the  Alps,  the  Apen- 
nines and  along  the  Riviera  are  massive 
walls  of  masonry,  supporting  a  mountain 
road,  forming  the  graceful  arches  of  some 
viadudl  or  holding  back  the  mighty  waves 
of  the  sea.  Much  of  this  work  was  com- 
pleted by  Napoleon  I.  Coming,  as  I  do, 
from  a  younger  civilization,  its  magnitude 

appears  marvelous  to  me. 

•55-  *  *  *  ^  * 

Marseilles  is  a  place  about  which  the 
casual  traveler  knows  but  little,  and  yet  it 
is  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  important 
seaports  in  the  world.  So  long  ago  as  600 
years  before  Christ,  the  Greeks  sailed  into 
this  natural  harbor  and  made  it  "  master 

158 


VALLEY  OF  THE  RHONE 
CORNICHE  ROAD  BETWEEN  NICE  AND  MONACO 


FRANCE 

of  the  seas."  Marseilles  carries  on  a  large 
oriental  trade,  which  accounts  for  the  fancy- 
dress-ball  appearance  of  its  quay  and  streets. 

Then  there  is  the  Cannebiere. 

Do  you  know  what  the  Cannebiere  is  ? 
Well,  it's  a  street,  or,  rather,  three  streets 
in  one,  each  with  a  double  row  of  trees 
meeting  in  an  arch  overhead,  and  each  of 
these  rows  of  trees  flanked  by  broad  walks 
which  are  formed  into  open-air  cafes, 
served  from  the  hotels  and  restaurants 
which  face  them.  Here  the  multitude 
gathered  from  all  nations  may  be  found  — 
quite  the  most  cosmopolitan  of  my  experi- 
ence—  and  here  we  have  our  tea  each 
afternoon. 

All  European  cities  have  open-air  cafes, 
but  none  of  them  can  duplicate  the  Canne- 
biere. The  Marseillaise  are  very  proud 
of  it,  and  have  a  song  which  runs : 

**  Si  Paris  avait  une  Cannebiere, 
Paris  serait  une  petite  Marseilles." 

(If  Paris  had  a  Cannebiere,  it  would  be  a 
little  Marseilles.) 

Those  who  named  the  streets  in  Mar- 
seilles must  have  had  their  share  of  senti- 
ment and  romance.  One  of  them  is  named 
'-'■Rue  Paradis^*  and  its  principal  shop  is 


BY  THE  WAY 

called  "Paradis  de  Dames."  Another  rue 
is  named  "Pave  d^  Amour"  which  doesn't 
quite  harmonize  with  the  odor  of  the  favor- 
ite dish,  bouillabaisse^  of  which  Thackeray 
wrote. 

The  Chateau  d'lf,  made  famous  by 
Dumas's  "  Monte  Cristo,"  is  on  a  barren 
rock  which  rises  out  of  the  sea  within 
sight  of  the  harbor  of  Marseilles. 

The  chateau  was,  until  recently,  a  po- 
litical prison,  and  many  notable  men  have 
been  confined  within  its  dungeon  cells.  It 
is  now  kept  for  the  inspedlion  of  tourists, 
and  one  is  shown  the  inscriptions  carved 
on  its  begrimed  walls  by  Edmond  Dante 
and  the  learned  Abbe  Faria  during  their 
fourteen  years'  imprisonment  in  cells  where 

daylight  never  penetrated. 

****** 

If  time  should  hang  heavily  on  your 
hands  at  Marseilles,  go  to  Aix-en-Prov- 
ence — not  that  there  is  anything  especial 
to  see  at  Aix  except  the  quaintly  rural 
landscape,  nor  yet  anything  especial  to  do 
except  to  taste  the  calisson^  an  almond  cake 
of  which  Aix  holds  the  secret  recipe.  But, 
go!  It  is  in  the  going  that  your  time  will 
be  ««hung. 

The  tram  leaves  from  the  Vieux  Port, 

1 60 


CHATEAU   D'lF 
ALMERIA,  SPAIN 


FRANCE 

and  if  you  go  down  at  the  hour  advertised, 
just  place  a  book  or  your  top-coat  on  a 
seat  to  reserve  it,  and  then  go  to  get  your 
grand  dejeuner,  to  take  a  nap,  or  to  shop, 
returning  at  your  leisure,  and  you  '11  have 
ample  time. 

Local  freight  is  carried  on  a  little  trailer 
car,  and  the  car  is  moved  alongside  the 
freight  that  has  been  dumped  in  the 
middle  of  the  street  near  the  track.  This 
looks  so  easy  that  before  the  car  is  loaded, 
it  is  moved  a  half  block  or  so,  and  the 
freight  is  carried  to  the  new  location  of 
the  car  and  again  dumped  on  the  ground. 
After  this  operation  has  been  repeated 
several  times,  the  ludicrousness  of  it  all 
dawns  on  one,  and  turns  the  tears  of  anger 
caused  by  the  delay,  to  laughter. 

It  really  seems  as  though  some  of  these 
foreign  cousins  of  ours  endeavored  to  do 
things  in  the  most  difficult  way. 


i6i 


ISCHIA 

So  ivaited  I  until  it  came — 
God'' s  daily  miracle, —  oh,  shame 
That  I  had  seen  so  many  days 
Unthankful,  "without  ivondering  praise. 

Lowell, "At  Sea,"  Fireiidt  Travch. 

CASAMICCIOLA: 

"^TTHAT  slaves  of  sentiment  we  mortals 
^^  are!  Here  I  am  at  Ischia  again  — 
Ischia  that  has  been  enshrined  in  our 
hearts  for  years!  And  yet  it  is  not  the 
enchanted  island  of  our  younger  dreams. 
Will  the  memory  of  that  first  visit  ever 
be  effaced?  Can  you  not  recall,  as  though 
it  were  yesterday,  how  our  hearts  beat 
when  we  found  the  invitation  to  dine  at 
the  old  castello  on  a  promontory  of  Ischia? 
How  we  donned  our  spotlessest  white, 
and  boarded  one  of  the  smaller  craft  that 
plies  between  the  island  towns!  How  we 
threaded  our  way  through  the  myriad  of 
boats  which  crowded  the  Bay  of  Naples ! 
How  fascinated  we  were  with  everything, 
from  the  fairyland  of  islands  to  the  old 
captain  who  would  lean  far  over  the  rail 
and  scold  at  people  coming  to  meet  the 

162 


ISCHIA 

boat,  if  they  were  late,  and  yet  who  would 
stop  his  boat  anywhere  to  take  them  on 
board !  How  even  the  rain  that  threatened 
to  undo  our  spotlessness  seemed  part  of 
the  scheme,  and  how,  when  the  wind 
arose  and  the  waves  ran  high,  you  declared 
we  would  not  go  ashore  like  the  common 
herd!  How,  when  we  arrived  at  our  desti- 
nation, the  young  officer  got  the  biggest, 
whitest  and  cleanest  of  the  rowboats  around 
to  the  sea-side  of  our  ship,  avoiding  the 
crowd  which  was  filling  the  boats  on  the 
other  side. 

Will  you  ever  forget  the  great  wave 
that  drenched  the  officer  as  he  stood  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ladder  trying  to  steady  the 
smaller  boat  that  I  might  leap  in,  and, 
after  we  were  pushed  off,  the  feeling  of 
helplessness  at  tossing  on  that  mighty  sea 
so  far  from  shore?  How  the  old  oarsman 
stopped  in  the  roughest  part,  demanding 
his  fare,  and  after  you  had  paid  him,  in- 
sisted, like  Oliver  Twist,  on  more !  How 
you  shook  your  fist  at  him,  balancing  your- 
self in  that  frail  craft,  and  cried,  ^'■Allez!" 
and  how  he  allezed  before  that  fist! 

How  the  handsome  young  Ischian  had 
seledled  me  as  his  signorind s  guest!  How 
his  frank  eye  inspired  confidence,  and  I  let 

163 


BY  THE  WAY 

him  hand  me  into  the  wee  phaeton;  and 
how  we  started  up  the  mountain,  wonder- 
ing all  the  while!  How  he  seemed  to 
remember  something,  stopped  the  pony- 
bedecked  with  ribbons  and  feathers,  and 
gave  me  a  note  which  proved  my  confi- 
dence was  not  misplaced  and  that  he  was 
our  hostess's  coachman!  How  he  showed 
us  the  old  castle  from  each  vantage  point, 
proud  to  be  serving  the  beautiful  signorinay 
and  bubbling  over  with  joy  at  our  evident 
admiration ! 

All  this  is  changed.  The  old  castle  still 
stands  out,  white  and  clear  cut,  with  the 
blue  Mediterranean  beating  on  three  of 
its  sides,  but  the  sunshine  has  flown. 

No  smiling  mistress  in  silken  robes,  no 
Roman  servants,  no  coachman  of  polished 
bronze  were  here  to  welcome  me  now.  The 
great  hall  with  its  wealth  of  marble  re- 
mains, but  the  oijets  d'arts  brought  from 
every  corner  of  the  globe  are  gone,  and 
all  the  warmth  of  heart  that  comes  from 
loving  hospitality  is  missing.  My  hostess 
of  former  years  has  been  wooed  away. 

^  4^  "^^  w  ^  ^ 

Let  not  my  musing,  however,  deter  any 
one  from  coming  to  Ischia.  Situated  at 
the    northern   extremity   of  the    Bay   of 

164 


ISCHIA 


Naples,  as  Capri   is   at  its  southern   ex- 
tremity, it  is  at  once  unique  and  romantic. 


W 


ON  SHIPBOARD : 

'E  SET  sail  from  Marseilles  one  eve- 
ning as  the  autumn  sun  was  sinking 
behind  the  distant  Alps.  Cruising  along 
the  Riviera  and  the  rugged  coast  of  Cor- 
sica, on  the  second  morning  we  were  close 
to  Italy's  shore  with  the  environs  of 
Naples  in  the  misty  background. 

We  remained  in  port  three  days,  living 
on  the  ship  the  while.  A  drive  to  Posilipo, 
the  never-ending  panorama  of  Neapolitan 
life,  and  the  day  at  Ischia,  about  which  I 
told  you  in  my  last  letter,  filled  the  time, 
and  at  midnight  of  the  third  day  we 
weighed  anchor  for  home. 

ALMERIA : 

Tt  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  big  packet 
-■•  of  letters  which  awaited  me  here,  full  to 
overflowing  with  questions,  could  not  have 
been  received  earlier.  The  twelve  hours 
of  unexpedled  waiting  caused  by  the  de- 
layed sailing  of  the  ship  will  give  me, 
however,  an  opportunity  to  answer  a  lim- 
ited number.  You  will  receive  this  letter — 
one  of  you  at  least  —  before  that  happy 

i6s 


BY  THE  WAY 

day  when  I  shall  set  foot  again  upon  my 
native  land. 

Does  it  pay  to  come  abroad  for  a  short 
time  ? 

It  pays  to  come  for  a  day.  The  ocean 
voyage  is  compensation  in  itself.  Nothing 
broadens  one's  life  like  touching  the  lives 
of  others. 

And  did  request  me  to  importune  you. 
To  let  him  spend  his  time  no  more  at  home. 
Which  would  be  great  impeachment  to  his  age 
In  having  known  no  travel  in  his  youth. 

Shakspere,  Tivo  Gentlemen  of  Verona, 
Act  I,  Scene  3,  Line  13. 

Is  it  worth  while,  before  coming,  to  read 
about  the  places  one  intends  to  visit? 

It  is  more  than  worth  while!  It  is 
necessary !  That  which  one  will  compre- 
hensively absorb  during  any  journey  de- 
pends largely  upon  what  one  has  read. 
This  is  especially  true  of  foreign  travel. 

The  books  I  have  named  in  my  letters 
will  be  of  assistance  to  you.* 

^  ^  ^  ^  "^  W 

And  now  you  ask  me  to  sum  up  my 
foreign  experiences.  Your  request  reminds 
me  of  the  schoolmaster  who  gave  out  as 

■*  See  index  of  authors  and  books. 
166 


ISCHIA 

the  subject  of  a  prize  composition,  "The 
World  and  Its  Inhabitants." 

In  all  seriousness,  this  has  been  the  most 
deHghtful  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
miserable  year  of  my  life.  Comprenez-vous? 

They  said  the  stars  shone  with  a  softer  gleam ; 

It  seemed  not  so  to  me  ! 
In  vain  a  scene  of  beauty  beamed  around  — 
My  thoughts  were  o'er  the  sea. 

Longfellow,  Outre  Met, 
Chapter  on  Pi/grim' s  Salutation. 

I  am  not  unmindful  of  all  the  oppor- 
tunities I  have  had  to  see  God's  beautiful 
world,  and  I  think  little  has  escaped  me 
that  has  been  in  my  line  of  vision. 

Of  all  countries,  I  like  England  best — 
yes,  England!  dear,  green,  blossoming 
England;  of  all  cities,  Paris  and  Florence; 
of  all  churches,  St.  Mark's  in  Venice; 
of  piduresque  places,  Killarney's  lakes  and 
the  Lake  of  Lucerne;  of  awesome  grandeur 
in  nature,  the  Giant's  Causeway  and  on 
the  heights  of  Switzerland;  of  man's  work 
in  art  and  architedure  combined,  Fontaine- 
bleau,  Versailles,  the  Bargello  in  Florence 
and  Raphael's  Stanza  and  Loggie  in  the 
Vatican;  of  colleded  art  in  sculpture,  that 
found  in  Rome ;  of  colleded  art  in  paint- 

167 


BY  THE  WAY 

ing,  that  found  in  the  galleries  of  Florence; 
of  the  sublime  in  nature,  the  sunsets  on  the 
Mediterranean,  moonlight  on  the  Arno, 
the  Alpine  glow  on  the  Rigi,  and  sunrise 
over  the  Acropolis;  of  all  peoples,  the 
upper  class  of  Irish  and  English.  And  the 
happiest  moments  spent  among  this  array 
were  those  when  reading  my  letters  from 
home. 

I  have  been  treated  with  charming  cor- 
diality everywhere  and  have  met  clever, 
cultured  people,  both  foreign  and  Ameri- 
can. I  have  seen  —  and  heard  —  a  few 
Americans,  the  sort  whose  bragging  brings 
the  blood  to  the  face,  but  I  am  happy  to 
tell  you  they  have  been  few. 

I  should  advise  any  one  to  come  here 
with  the  intention  of  enjoying  and  not  of 
criticising.  If  things  are  desired  as  they 
are  in  America,  stay  there. 

One  comes  to  a  foreign  country  to  see 
things  as  they  are,  and,  most  of  all,  to  see 
things  which  we  have  not. 

The  science  of  comprehensive  observa- 
tion should  be  taught  in  every  school,  for 
few  know  how  to  observe  understandingly. 

Culture  comes  high,  at  the  easiest,  and 
in  no  way  can  one  absorb  so  much  or  so 
well  as  by  observation  while  traveling. 

i68 


ISCHIA 

GIBRALTAR: 

SOON  after  the  last  letter  was  posted,  a 
note  and  a  cable  were  handed  me  by 
the  purser. 

The  cable  was  from  Ruth  announcing 
her  marriage  and  removal  to  Porto  Rico. 
The  letter,  from  Mrs.  F.  telling  of  her 
husband's  complete  recovery  and  that  his 
business  interests  were  taking  them  to 
Japan,  where  they  would  make  for  them- 
selves a  home.  Her  hurried  notes  to  me 
have  borne  only  her  initials.  This  letter 
she  signed,  for  the  first  time,  with  her 
Christian  name  —  the  same  as  my  own. 
The  spelling  is  identical.    Odd,  is  it  not  ? 


169 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


WITH  NAME  OF  HOTEL  OR  PENSION 

/  rather  would  entreat  thy  company 

To  tee  the  loonderi  of  the  ivorld  abroad. 

Shaksperk,  Two  Gentlemen  »/  yerana. 

Act  I, Scene  I,  Line  5. 

Bring  us  "where  ive  may  rest  oursel'ves  and  feed. 

Shakspere,  Ai  you  Like  It, 
Act  II,  Scene  4,  Line  74. 


Abbotsford : 

from  Melrose,  28. 
Aix-les-Bains  : 

Terminus  Hotel,  i  56. 
Aix-en-Provence : 

from  Marseilles,  160. 
Almeria,  165. 
Amalfi : 

St.  Catherine  Hotel,  57. 
Ambleside : 

Grange  Private  Hotel, 

26. 
Amsterdam  : 

Hotel  Viftoria,  105. 
Amboise : 

Hotel  du  Lion  d'Or, 

Anacapri : 

Hotel  Vittoria,  56. 
Antwerp : 

New  Hotel  London, 

109. 


Athens : 

Hotel  d'Angleterre, 

117. 
Ayr: 

King's  Arms,  33,  34. 
Azay-le-Rideau  : 

from  Tours,  156. 
Azores : 

see  Ponta  Delgada,  52. 

Bantry  : 

from  Cork,  40. 
Barbizon  : 

Siron,  149. 
Barcelona : 

Mme.  de  Bergue, 

79  Rambla  Cataluna, 

130. 
Belfast : 

Waverly,  34. 
Berlin  : 

Hotel  Bristol,  135. 

171 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


Blarney  : 

from  Cork,  4 1 , 
Blue  Grotto : 

from  Naples,  55. 
Blois : 

Hotel  d'Angleterre, 

153- 
Bonchurch  : 

Bonchurch  Hotel,  22. 
Boulogne-sur-Mer : 

Christol  et  Bristol,  151. 
Bourne  End : 

from  London,  i  5. 
Bray  : 

from  Dublin,  44. 
Brigue  : 

Hotel  des  Couronnes  et 

Poste,  102. 
Brindisi : 

International,  115. 
Brussels : 

Bellevue  et  Flandre, 

108. 
Budapest : 

Hungaria,  I  29. 

Callander : 

Mrs.  Linklater,  Kinlock 

Cottage  —  coach  for 

Trossachs,  3  2. 
Capri : 

Grotte  Bleue,  54,  55, 

56,  165. 
Carisbrooke  Castle : 

Eight  Bells  Inn,  22. 

172 


Carlisle  : 

Miss  Woodrow,  4  Al- 
fred Street,  27. 
Casamicciola  : 

Pension  Pithecusa,  162. 
Chambord  : 

from  Blois,  155. 
Champigny : 

from  Paris,  151. 
Charlottenberg : 

from  Berlin,  135. 
Chateau  d'lf: 

from  Marseilles,  160. 
Chaumont : 

from  Blois,  155. 
Chelsea : 

from  London,  12. 
Chenonceaux  : 

from  Tours,  156. 
Chester : 

The  Blossoms,  5. 
Chesterfield : 

Angel,  24. 
Chinon  : 

Hotel  de  France, 

156. 
Cologne : 

St.  Paul,  106. 
Como,  Lake : 

Grande  Bretagne,  Bel- 

lagio,  89. 
Constantinople  : 

Pera  Palace,  I  20. 
Corfu : 

St.  George,  115. 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


Cork: 

Temperance,  40. 
Corinth  : 

Hotel  des  Etrange, 

117. 
Corsica,  165. 
Cowes : 

Royal  Medina,  23. 

Dardanelles,  122. 
Dargle  (Dark  Glen)  : 

from  Dublin,  44. 
Domodossola  : 

Hotel  de  la  Ville  et 

Poste,  91,  93. 
Dublin : 

Metropole,  42,  50. 
Dresden  : 

Savoy,  136. 

Edinburgh  : 

Waverly,  29. 
Ellen's  Isle,  27. 
Etaples  : 

Mme.  Geneau,  Rue  du 

Rivage,  151. 

Fiesole : 

from  Florence,  84. 
Florence : 

Pension  Jennings- Ric- 

cioli,  37  Corso  dei 

Tintori,  80. 
Fontainebleau : 

Pension  Victoria,  148. 


Fontenay-sous-Bois : 

from  Paris,  151. 
Frankfort-on-the-Main : 

Hotel  Schwan,  135. 
Freshwater  : 

Stark's  Inn,  21. 

Geneva  : 

Hotel  des  Families,  1  56. 
Genoa  : 

Nazionale,  157. 
Giant's  Causeway  : 

Causeway  Hotel,  34. 
Gibraltar : 

Grand,  52. 
Glasgow  : 

Bath  Hotel,  29,  32. 
Glengariff : 

Eccles,  39. 
Grasmere : 

Temperance,  26. 

Hampton  Court : 

from  London,  12. 
Havre : 

Frascati,  137. 
Hawarden  : 

from  Chester,  5. 
Henley : 

Red  Lion,  16. 

Innisfallen  : 

from  Killamey,  38. 
Inversnaid  : 

Inversnaid  Hotel,  32. 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


Ischia : 

see  Casamicciola,  162. 
Isle  of  Wight : 

see  Ryde,  Cowes, 

Ventnor,  Freshwater, 

20. 

Keswick  : 

Queens,  27. 
Kew : 

from  London,  I  2. 
Kilkenny  : 

Club  House,  45. 
Killarney  : 

Great  Southern,  36. 
Kenilworth  : 

from  Leamington,  8. 

Lake  Distrift  : 

English,  25. 
Larne  : 

Olderfleet,  34. 
Lausanne  : 

Beau-Sejour,  103. 
Leamington  : 

Manor  House,  6. 
Leeds : 

Queens,  25. 
Lido : 

from  Venice,  88. 
Liverpool : 

Adelphi,  3. 
Loches : 

Hotel  de  la  Promenade, 

.56. 


London  : 

Russell  Square  Hotel, 
Whitehall  Hotels,  i  i, 

17- 
Lucerne  : 

Beau-Rivage,  93,  103. 
Lugano  : 

Splendide,  91. 

Maggiore,  Lake,  91. 
Marseilles  : 

Hotel  de  Geneve,  158, 

165. 
Melrose : 

Waverly,  27. 
Menaggio  : 

Menaggio,  91. 
Metz: 

Grand  Hotel  de  Metz, 

136. 
Milan  : 

Roma,  90. 
Monaco  : 

from  Nice,  157. 
Montbazon  : 

from  Tours,  156. 
Monte  Carlo  : 

Hotel  des  Anglais,  157. 
Montreuil  : 

Mme.  Crutel,  152. 
Munich  : 

Bellevue,  134. 

Naples  : 

Bertolini's  Palace,  54, 
55.  57.  165. 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


Nice  : 

Terminus,  157. 
Norwood  : 

from  London,  14. 
Niirnberg : 

Goldener  Adier,  135. 

Oberammergau  : 

Frau  Christus  Lang, 

Main  Street,  134. 
Olympia,  116. 
Orvieto : 

Belle  Arti,  76,  78. 
Oxford  : 

Micklem  Hall,  9,  16. 

Paris  : 


Portsmouth  : 

Beach  Mansions,  21. 

Posilipo  : 

from  Naples,  165. 
Potsdam  : 

Einsiedler,  135. 

Queenstown  : 

Queens,  xiii,  42. 

Richmond  : 

from  London,  i  2. 
Rome ; 

Pension  Michel,  via 

Torino  98,  60. 
Rouen : 

Hotel  de  la  Poste,  138. 


Pension,  30  Rue  de  la       Ryde  : 

Bienfaisance:  Hotel  de  Esplanade,  21. 

Calais,  137. 
Patras : 

Hotel  d' Angleterre, 

116. 
Penrith  : 

Waverly  Temperance, 

27. 


Piraeus : 

Continental,  119. 
Pompeii : 

from  Naples,  59. 
Ponta  Delgada  : 

The  Inn,  51. 
Portrush : 

Landsdown  Crescent, 

34- 


St.  Cloud  : 

Belvedere,  145. 

Salzburg  : 

Pension  Kaiserin  Elisa- 
beth, 134. 

Sans  Souci : 

from  Potsdam,   135. 

Sevres : 

from  Paris,   145. 

Shanklin  : 

Royal  Spa,  23. 

Siena  : 

Pension  Tognazzi,  via 
Sallutio  Bandini  19, 

79- 

^75 


INDEX  OF  PLACES 


Simplon  : 

Pension  Fletschhorn, 

97. 
Skipton  : 

Devonshire  Arms, 

25. _ 
Skutari : 

from  Constantinople, 

123. 
Slough : 

Crown,  24. 
Smyrna,  1  20. 
Sorrento : 

Cocumella,  56. 
Stirling : 

Waverly  Temperance, 

30- 
Stoke  Poges  : 

from  Slough,  24. 
Stranraer ; 

King's  Arms,  34. 
Stratford-on-Avon : 

Red  Horse,  9. 
Suresnes : 

from  Paris,  145. 

Tours  : 

Mme.  Francois,  27  Rue 

de  Cygne,  156. 
Trossachs : 

Glasgow  or  Edinburgh, 

31- 
Turin  : 

Suisse,  157. 


Venice  : 

Pension  Beau-Rivage, 

85. 
Ventnor  : 

New  Queens,  22. 
Versailles : 

Hotel  des  Reservoirs, 

142. 
Vienna : 

Pension  Monopole,  IX 

3  Garelligasse,  132. 
Vietri : 

Trattoria  Rosa,  58. 
Vincennes : 

from  Paris,  i  50. 

Warwick  : 

Globe  Inn,  8. 
Wicklow : 

from  Dublin,  44. 
Wiesbaden : 

Villa  Rupprecht, 

1 2  Sonnenbergerstrasse, 

136. 
Windermere : 

Mrs.  Kellett,  Mount 

View,  New  Road,  24. 
Windsor  : 

White  Hart  Inn,  10. 

Youghal : 

Imperial,  41. 

Zurich  : 

Pension  Neptun,  See- 
feldstrasse,  105. 


176 


INDEX  OF 

AUTHORS  AND  BOOKS 

MENTIONED 


Knoiving  that  I  lo-ved  my  hooks,  he  furnish'' d  me 
.    .    .   tuith  'volumes  that  I  prize  abo-ve  my  dukedom. 
Shakspeke,  The  Temfeity 
Act  I,  Scene  2,  Line  l6<6. 


Alcott,  Louise  :  home  of, 
76. 

Austin,  Alfred  :  reference 
to,  36. 

A  Summer  in  England  : 
issued  by  Woman' s  Rest 
Tour  Association  of  Bos- 
ton, 166. 

Baedeker  :  a  guide-book 
issued  for  each  country 
and  principal  city,  144, 
166. 

Bell,  Lilian  :  reference  to, 
63. 

Besant,  Walter  :   London, 
166. 

Black,  William  :   Hand- 
some Humes  ;  Strange 
Adventure  series,  16, 
166. 


Blossom,  Henry  :  quota- 
tions from  Documents 
in  Evidence,  147. 

Boswell,  James :  Haunts  of, 

3°- 

Browning,  Elizabeth  B. : 
Casa  Guidi  Windows ; 
The  Dance,  80,  166. 

Browning,  Robert :  De 
Gustibus  ;  Old  Piftures ; 
Andrea  del  Sarto  ;  The 
Statue  and  the  Bust  ; 
The  Ring  and  the  Book, 
3,  92,  166. 

Bunyan  :  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress,The  Author' s  Apol- 
ogy, iii. 

Burke,  Edmund :  statue  of, 
48. 

Burns,  Robert :  home  of, 
33  ;   haunts  of,  30. 

177 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS  AND  BOOKS 


Burroughs,  John :  Waiting, 

quotations  from,  42, 

100. 
Burton,  Richard  :   Dumb 

in  June,  reference  to,  9. 
Butler,  Mrs. :   Biography 

of  Katherine  of  Siena, 

79- 
Byron :  home  of,  in  Rome, 

75- 

Carlyle,  Thomas :  home 
of,  I  2. 

Clement,  C.  E. :  Naples, 
the  city  of  Parthenope, 
166. 

Coleridge,  Samuel  T.: 
home  of,  27. 

Coufopoulos,  Demetrius : 
Constantinople,  guide- 
book in  English,  166. 

Crawford,  F.  Marion  : 
Greifenstein,  166; 
home  of,  57. 

Dayot,  Armand :  Beauti- 
ful Women  in  Art,  1 66. 

DeForest,  Katherine:  Paris 
as  it  is,  166. 

Dickens:  reference  to,  144. 

Dumas  :   reference  to, 
153,  160. 

Eliot,  George  :  home  of, 
76. 


Emerson  :  English  Traits, 
166. 

Freeman,  E.  A. :   English 
Tours  &  Distrifts,  166. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver :  statue 

of,  48. 
Gray,  Thomas  :   Elegy, 

quotation  from,  24. 
Green,  John  Richard  : 

Short  History  of  the 

English  People,  166. 
Grifi,  E. :   Saunterings  in 

Florence,  166. 

Hare,  Augustus  J.  C: 

Walks,  in  principal 

cities,  166. 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel : 

English,  French  and 

Italian  Note  Books  ; 

Marble  Faun,  63,  74, 

166. 
Homer :  birthplace  of,  i  2 1 . 
Horton,  George :   In 

Argolis ;  Modern 

Athens,  166. 
Howard,  Blanche  Willis : 

One  Year  Abroad,  166. 
Howells  :   Tuscan  Cities ; 

Italian  Journeys  ; 

Venetian  Life  ;  Silver 

Wedding  Journey,  63, 

75,  80,  89,  139,  166. 


178 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS  AND  BOOKS 


Hubbard,  Elbert :   Little 
Journeys,  io8. 

Hugo,  Vidlor :  quotations 
from,  137,  139. 

Hutton,  Laurence  :  Liter- 
ary Landmarks,  11,75, 
76,  80,  166. 

Hutton,  William  Holden  : 
Medieval  Constantino- 
ple, 166. 

Irving,  Washington  : 
Sketch  Book,  166. 

Jackson,  Helen  Hunt : 

home  of,  in  Rome,  76. 
James,  Henry  :   Little 

Tours  in  France  ; 

Portraits  of  Places  ; 

Transatlantic  sketches, 

154,  166. 
Jameson,  Mrs.:   Early 

Italian  Painters  ;  Art 

Legends  ;   home  of,  in 

Rome,  76,  166. 
Jonson,  Ben  :   haunts  of, 

30- 

Keats,  John  :   home  of,  in 

Rome,  74,  75. 
Kingsley,  Charles : 

Westward  Ho,  166. 
Knight :   Through  the 

Wordsworth  Country, 

166. 


Knox,  John  :  haunts  of, 
30- 

Loomis,  L.  C:  The  Index 

Guide,  166. 
Longfellow ;    Outre  Mer, 

quotations  from  The 

Norman  Diligence  and 

Pilgrim's  Salutation, 

1 1,  139,  166. 
Low,  Will  H.:  A  Chron- 
icle of  Friendship, 

149. 
Lowell,  James  Russell : 

Legends  of  Brittany ; 

My  Study  Window  ; 

Fireside  Travels,  11, 

162,  166. 
Lytton,  Edward  Bulwer : 

Last  Days  of  Pompeii, 

166. 

Macquoid,  K.  S. :  Through 
Normandy ;  Through 
Brittany,  166. 

Mahoney,  Francis:  quota- 
tion from,  41. 

Martineau,  Harriet:  Guide 
to  English  Lake  Distrift, 
27. 

Matthews,  Brander : 
Americanisms  and 
Briticisms,  166, 

Meredith,  George: 
Vittoria,  166. 


179 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS  AND  BOOKS 


Meredith,  Owen :  Venice, 

i66. 
Moore,  Thomas :  Vale  of 

Avoca,  quotation  from, 

45- 

Oliphant,  Mrs.:  Makers 
of  Florence  ;   Royal 
Edinburgh,  80,  166. 

Ouida :  A  Dog  of  Flanders; 
Niirnberg  Stove,  166. 

Parker,  John  H. :  A.  B.  C. 

of  Gothic  Architedlure, 

166. 
Porter,  Jane :  Scottish 

Chiefs,  31. 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter : 
home  of,  41. 

Ruskin:  Stones  of  Venice; 
Mornings  in  Florence; 
Seven  Lamps,  notes  on 
Turner  and  notes  on 
Pre-Raphaelitism; 
Hortus  Inclusus,  notes 
on  piftures  in  the  Royal 
Academy,  and  guide 

.    to  piftures  in  the  Acad- 
emy of  Fine  Arts  at 
Venice,  80,  83,  8g, 
166. 


Sartoris,  Adelaide 
of,  76. 

180 


home 


Scott:  home  of,  28;  haunts 
of,  26,  29,  30,  32. 

Shakspere  :  home  of,  9  ; 
quotations  from,  I,  82, 
120,  129,  132,  134, 
166. 

Shelley  :   haunts  of,  26, 

,  74.75- 
Singleton,  Esther:  Turrets, 

Towers  and  Temples  ; 

Great  Pidlures ;  Historic 

Buildings,  166. 
Smith,  F.  Berkeley  :  The 

Real  Latin  Quarter,  1 66. 
Smith,  F.  Hopkinson  : 

Well-worn  Roads,  108. 
Southey  :   home  of,  26. 
Stevenson,  Robert  Louis : 

Travels  of  a  Donkey, 

166. 
Stockton,  Frank  R. : 

reference  to,  28. 
Stowe,  Harriet  B.:   Agnes 

of  Sorrento,  166. 
Symonds,  John  A. : 

The  Renaissance  in 

Italy,  79,  166. 

Tennyson  :  home  and 
haunts  of,  21,  39. 

Thackeray :   Irish  Sketch 
Book  ;   Paris  Sketch 
Book  :   Cornhill  to 
Cairo,  9,  41,  76,  160, 
166. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS  AND  BOOKS 


Thoreau :  reference  to, 

io8. 
Trollope :   Homes  and 

Haunts,  166. 

Ward,  Mrs,  Humphrey  : 

Eleanor,  reference  to, 

78,91. 
Warner,  Charles  Dudley  : 

A  Roundabout  Journey  ; 

In  the  Levant,  166. 
Whiting,  Richard  : 

Life  of  Paris,  1 66. 


Whiting,  Lilian  : 

Spiritual  Significance, 
chapter  on  Siena,  79. 

Wiggins,  Kate  Douglas : 
Cathedral  Courtship  ; 
English,  Scotch  and 
Irish  Experiences,  166. 

Woolson,  Constance 
Fenimore:  reference  to, 

74- 
Wordsworth :  Excursion, 
guide  to  English  lakes, 
26,  166. 


181 


HERE  ENDS  BY  THE  WAY,  BEING  A  SERIES  OF 
TRAVEL  LETTERS  WRITTEN  DURING  SEVERAL 
JOURNEYS  ABROAD  BY  AGNESS  GREENE  FOSTER. 
PUBLISHED  BY  PAUL  ELDER  &  COMPANY  AND 
PRINTED  FOR  THEM  BY  THE  TOMOYE  PRESS, 
IN  THE  CITY  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO,  UNDER  THE 
DIRECTION  OF  J.  H.  NASH  IN  THE  MONTH  OF 
APRIL  AND  YEAR  NINETEEN  HUNDRED  &  TEN. 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DAT 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  329  428    7 


...^^^^^^■^^^^^^■■^^^^ 


